


Fire's Promise: Heat

by Mnemos9



Series: Fire's Promise [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU season 9, Alcoholism, Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Body Horror, Case Fic, Danger, Dark, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drug Use, Extended Winchester Family, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gore, Hallucinations, Horror Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Long WIP, M/M, Multi, Multiple Triggers Warning, PTSD, Personality Shift, Possession, Pre-Slash, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Horror, Reverse Trope(s), Road Trips, Slow Burn, character growth, divine intervention, family bonds, lots of pop culture references, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnemos9/pseuds/Mnemos9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metatron's plan dies with him, leaving Cas the prime suspect for his and Naomi's murders. On the run, he discovers how to cloak himself from Heaven's new 'democracy'. Working a ritual that leaves him practically human, Cas takes to the road and keeps his distance from the Winchesters. Meanwhile, demons start dying off en masse and no one knows who's responsible. Sam gets a taste of the life he wants and tries to approach his brother about it. Of course, Abaddon is freed, Crowley is weirding everyone out with his personality shift, and Cas' self-imposed exile is hitting Dean hard. Then Cas asks for Dean's help. Hellbent on dragging him home, Dean arrives in Idaho to find that he's supporting himself and two children-one psychic-off his pittance. He agrees to find a home for the kids if everyone comes back with him to Kansas. The daily grind becomes weekly, then monthly. Sam moves out, Kevin gets a job and Crowley goes globe-trotting. All the while, Cas and Dean find themselves accidentally raising a family; their feelings becoming harder to bury. But peace is often fleeting and even Abaddon struggles with confidence when an apocalyptic rumor is born. One in which Cas' role is vital. Sometimes Destiny can only be delayed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas goes into hiding, makes a new friend, and anxiously awaits ice cream. Dean has a rough time and makes an enemy of the public coffee machine. Sam is lounging about in a coma and unnecessarily worrying everyone.

The instant that Castiel arrives in Heaven he knows that something has gone horribly wrong. Two ashen prints of wings overlap each other on the floor of Naomi’s office. The former director of Heaven is slumped over Metatron's lifeless vessel, her blood discoloring the scribe's pants a deep maroon. He scans the room; it appears he is alone with the two corpses. Curiosity wins over caution and he crosses over to them, stooping to roll Naomi off his deceased friend.

A blade protrudes from Metatron's chest and his face is frozen between horror and surprise. Cas will mourn for him later. Glancing at Naomi, he notes that the cause of death can be attributed to the infamous instrument of reform that she used on any angel whose obedience she wasn't 100% satisfied with. It’s buried in her eye socket, right up to the base due to the dead weight that continued to drive it into her skull after she perished. The world is a better place without her in it and few will grieve her passing on a personal level. However, a vacuum is now imminent.

The sound of approaching wings forces him back to reality and Castiel draws his weapon instinctively, spinning in a crouch to meet the threat. What he's greeted by is a girl, no older than eleven, donning bright cherry _Converse_ (he’s pretty sure that’s what those particular shoes are called), moss-colored cargo pants and a navy, adult-sized sweater that simply states _Red Sox_. Her skin is dark russet in tone, features suggesting a mixed lineage with an emphasis on the Jat bloodline of Northern India or rural Pakistan. Chewing energetically on something unseen, she examines the scene with peaked interest.

"I'd heard you were capable of many great and terrible things, Castiel," she speaks with a marked Hindi accent and he catches a glimpse of pale blue gum between lustrous canines. "But even for you this—“

"I didn't kill anyone." Cas continues to study the newcomer chomping loudly on her gum as she crosses her arms and widens her stance. For a moment they size each other up. It isn't much of a contest.

"I believe you," Her focus drifts back to the corpses cooling inches from his knees. "but I can think for myself." Eyes darker than her skin glint in the harsh artificial lighting of the room when she tilts her chin up, surveying him coolly. "Others will not be so eager to forgive you." There's something oddly familiar about her, but he can't place it.

Squinting at the stranger, he scours his memory for any trace of her presence unbound from its’ Earthly vessel-without success. "Who are you? I thought I knew every angel in Heaven but I've never seen you before." She cups her small face in an even smaller hand.

"Yeah, I don’t like it here very much.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste at their surroundings. “Let's just say I'm a friend." Grinning slyly, she taps on her jaw. "Of a friend of a friend." Cas stands, regarding her with pronounced suspicion. "And I want to help." At what cost?

"Why?" The girl rolls her eyes and sighs in an exaggerated fashion as she advances on him.

"You wanna stand here doubting each other until Naomi's thugs show up and skewer us without hesitation?" she reconsiders it. "Actually they'd kill me instantly, but I'm betting they'd be pretty eager to make your execution as messy, drawn-out and public as possible." Glaring up at him, she extends a hand. He gazes at it with apprehension. Her motivations are completely unknown to him.

"Who knows," she goads on. "Maybe the spectacle will even be nasty enough to draw the notice of the Winchesters. Bet they’d _love_ to see your guts draped like Christmas decorations all over their car." He hears Dean's voice as his own when he thinks _Son of a bitch._ She has him cornered.

Clenching his jaw, Cas frowns at her victorious smirk and accepts the hand offered to him.

>>> 

Figuring he'll lose it if he has to put up with one more second of that incessant beeping, Dean finally leaves his brother's side. He blinks wearily in the glaring fluorescence of the hospital hallway and thinks about going to get more coffee. At least it'll be something to do. Some purpose other than being the reason why the cute yet annoying nurses dread coming into Sam's room. He's scared off a couple by now, but who cares?

The hunter's feet carry him towards the small room where humming machines dispense grounds with a hint of coffee into a styrofoam cup. No charge, and a good thing too-he wouldn't spend money on it even if he had any. Each step down the sparsely populated hall brings up more of the crap he's doing his damn well best not to think about.

The sickeningly patronizing, over-paid and _worthless_ doctors who tell him that his brother's life is basically in God's hands. The King of Hell who might get the tape off and start shouting out from his trunk any minute; alerting any nearby civvies, authorities, demons or (Dean's personal favorite) a combination of all three. The Knight of Hell who killed their one decent grandfather and thanks to their arrogance, is now figuratively stretching her legs; probably slaughtering unsuspecting innocents wholesale. The angel who may or may _not_ come back after attempting to seal off Heaven, who hasn't responded to _any_ of Dean's prayers, calls, or texts about Sam desperately needing some divine intervention to pull through. Or any at all, as a matter of fact.

"Fuck 'em." He mutters as he reaches his destination. Fuck' em all. One of the girls Dean thinks he may have yelled at looks up from her phone, the lines of fatigue etched into her face intensifying when she sees him.

Making his way to the dispenser, he selects ‘espresso’ and stares at it without seeing the thing as it whirs into life. He can feel the nurse’s anxious gaze on his back as she makes a hasty exit. Turning his back to the counter, he notices half a cup of caffeinated crap that she abandoned on the stained and cracking formica table.

Usually, he'd at least feel bad for losing his shit but under the current circumstances, sociability is the least of his concerns. He's probably had less than nine hours of sleep total in the past three days. Can't sleep. Not with Sam like this. Of course if his brother were awake, he'd call Dean an idiot and knock him out in the vicinity of a mattress. But Sammy isn't awake. He's dying in a hospital with equipment that was probably top-of-the-line during the Reagan administration.

"GODDAMMIT!" His fist slams into the counter-top, pain shooting out from the point of impact. The shock of it feels _good_ after forcibly numbing himself to everything else. He crumples to his knees, cradling his head with shaking hands as dry sobs wrack through his body and the weight of it all attempts to relentlessly crush him into dust.

"Cas..." His voice cracks and he doesn't even mean to say it. The name has become a prayer in and of itself. A comfort when there's nothing- not even hope left.

" _Cas_ ," he tries again. "please just," Dean inhales, pressing on his closed lids with the heels of his palms. "Please just be here. If you can't do anything for Sam that's..." He sniffs, holding in the tears that he can't release now because they won't stop and he's not having a full-blown breakdown. Especially in public. "All that crap I said to you, just...just forget it. Please. I don't know if your plan worked or not but if you can hear me," Dean lifts his head with considerable effort and glances around the empty room.

"I _need_ you here." He whispers to no one. “Where are you, man?”

>>> 

"I need to be there!" Castiel tells her again and _again_ she shakes her head. "I might be able to help. Sam—“

"Will be in _greater danger_ if you go to him now." He turns from her, crossing the cluttered room to stand by the window while avoiding visibility from the street below the hotel.

"There has to be something.” Actual children pass by, screaming with joyful laughter as they chase after their parents down the dilapidated sidewalk. “I _have_ to do something, I can't just sit around here while Sam dies!" It's been like this for days, stuck in Metatron's old study, trying to find a way to shake Heaven off their backs.

More aptly, _his_ back, as he’s wanted for sedition as well as murder now. And that doesn't even include the egregious sins of his past. So far he's come to learn that the scribe he trusted had lied to him, and if his plan had succeeded the entire host of Heaven would have been expelled from their home, perhaps irreversibly. That, and the even _stranger_ angel he's trusting now refuses to divulge her true name. _You can call me Nemo._ It's appropriate.

"This place is warded so well that if an archangel was standing on the other side of that door, they wouldn't know we were here unless we started shouting and banging on things." Nemo indicates the wooden ingress whose every splinter is imbued with arcane magic. "But the instant you leave this building they _will_ find you. And if you're in the vicinity of those two, what do you think will happen to them?"

Cas fumes, turning to face her. "I know, Nemo, but they _need_ help and the human doctors are useless in this situation."

The two fugitives (one self-proclaimed) have been combing over what could quite possibly be the most expansive library in existence for a way out from under Heaven's radar. Nemo disappears from time to time to 'check her sources’. She tells him that what’s left of the hierarchy holds him accountable for Naomi's death. They've even made a martyr out of Metatron, who was planning to exile _all angels_ in the name of petty vengeance.  Some groups believe in Castiel’s innocence, but the more vocal of them are being silenced one way or the other. The whispers are that Naomi and Metatron killed each other off by simple coincidence. It’s probably the reality of what occurred, but how does that human proverb go? The truth is often stranger than fiction?

Nemo doesn't speak and her countenance is unreadable. He's not entirely sure when facial expressions started to matter so much. It's maddening, watching her stony face while the situation deteriorates more with each passing moment.

Dean yells at him in his head every couple of hours. It makes the poorly progressing research that much more difficult. Sometimes Cas has to stop altogether as he did earlier, because Dean Winchester doesn't beg and he certainly doesn't say _please_. Today he's said it three times and Cas can't stomach it anymore. This is almost worse than all the nights in Purgatory _combined_. No, it definitely is worse because at least there, Dean wasn’t in mortal peril and he, in turn could do something to aid in that effort.  Now, his family is dying and he’s powerless to act. If that year was a nightmare, these past few days have been damnation.

He's about to press the issue for the umpteenth time when Nemo turns on her heel and sighs in exasperation "Wait here." She retrieves her sweater from the back of a chair. "I'm serious. _Do not_ leave this room, got it?" Castiel closes the gap between them while giving her a critical look. He's become almost as distrustful of angels as Dean.

"What are you going to do?" Maybe even more.

"First I'm gonna go buy myself some time," she slips one arm into the baggy sleeve. " _then_ I'm gonna try to save your friend," followed by the other one. " _and_ if there's time to spare, I'm gonna get us some ice cream." Nemo shrugs the hood up over her head and pulls the drawstrings snug.

Cas scrutinizes her for any hint of betrayal whatsoever and finds none as she stares back evenly. "They aren't very trusting of angels."  She rolls her eyes at him; it seems to be one of her favorite mannerisms.

"Yeah, I kinda figured." Despite her questionable choice of a vessel, Nemo speaks to him as if he were the child. "But they trust you." It's how Dean speaks to him sometimes. "So give me something I can use to gain Dean Winchester's trust." For some reason it feels more endearing than patronizing. "Something only the two of you would know."

Though it feels like betrayal, he isn't about to waste one more second when Sam's life hangs so precariously in the balance. He thinks it over and recalls the most private moment he can, even if technically one other person was present. But even if she _could_ remember, that poor woman’s soul is bound to the Pit. Cas doesn't look at Nemo as he utters a secret to her that he's never told anyone before. Nodding once from the corner of his peripheral vision, she strikes off with purpose towards the door, where she halts abruptly before half-turning to him.

"Two questions. Which hospital are they at and do you want your cone dipped in chocolate or just regular? If I was you, I’d go for the chocolate."

>>> 

How long he’s there, practically catatonic on those filthy tiles is anyone's guess. It's only when the clacking of approaching heels breaks the silence that Dean even remembers where he is. Grunting, he hauls himself to his feet, takes one look at the explosion of grounds all over the counter and leaves. He passes a woman in a powerbitch suit, squawking about ‘extremely unacceptable profit margins’ to whatever unlucky S.O.B. is on the other end.

Coffeeless, Dean ducks into the nearest restroom and splashes icy water over unshaven cheeks. The paper towels have been replaced with _brand new_ hand dryers, so he dries himself with the inside of his unwashed shirt. He avoids the mirror and the last face on Earth he wants to see. On the return journey, Dean passes a vintage vending machine and _again_ curses the fact that he stopped carrying around that dollar on a foot of tape years ago. Figures. He arrives outside Sam's room, scrubs a hand over his face and mentally prepares himself for the vigil he's about to resume.

When Dean opens the door, his seat is already occupied by a short-haired Indian girl in a sports hoodie downing a frosted 16 oz. Pepsi. At first he thinks he has the wrong room, but no-there's his gigantor brother lying comatose in a bed with sheets that make sandpaper seem soft.

"Uh," She doesn't even blink, just chugs the dark amber liquid while staring unnervingly at him. "You lost or something?" The kid keeps drinking as if she hasn't in a week. "Cuz I don't think this is the room you're looking for." He finishes lamely as she continues to guzzle the beverage. Jesus, half the bottle is empty. She lowers it and screws the cap back on.

Twisting sideways, she kicks herself off the plastic chair and walks over, holding the bottle out to him. "Want some?" She has an accent too.

"No-uh thanks but no." Shrugging, she lets the bottle fall to her side.

"Listen, kid, I'm not sure—“

"Castiel can't come so," she throws her arms out wide to either side. " _Ta-daaa_!" His expression betrays his surprise as he digests this new information.

“What happened?” She shakes her head.

“Later, now isn't the time or place.” Course not.

“So I take it the plan fell through?” She nods this time.

“And a good thing too, but he needs to lay low for now. Don’t worry,” she adds in when Dean curses. “He’ll be safe as long as he stays put.”

“Sure, cuz that always works out just fine,” he grumbles, squeezing his eyes shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “So, you're an angel?" The girl actually shushes him.

"Not so loud, dummy! You want the whole world to know?" He holds up a hand, still reeling from the bomb that’s just fallen out of the sky and landed at his feet.

"That's a kid, man." Anger is the first emotion to successfully settle back into place. "The hell, you guys are wearing freaking _kids_ around now?" The girl-no, the angel glares up at him as she crosses her arms over a tiny chest.

"I can assure you, it's a mutually beneficial arrangement." Dean scoffs. That's an angel alright.

"Yeah, seeing the kind of crap you guys get up to, I really doubt it." If possible, her smoldering eyes narrow even more.

"I don't have to justify myself to you when I'm risking my life just by being here." Christ, she even acts like a child.

"Well no one asked you to, did they?" Snorting, she peers over at the bed.

"Sooo, you _haven't_ been praying to Castiel for days about Sam's life?" Dean sidesteps her, planting himself firmly in-between his brother's unconscious body and the bratty angel shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

"Where's Cas?" He rasps, words getting caught in the dryness of his throat. Flinging her arms down, she shakes the soda up and comes to stand with her toes barely an inch from his.

"I told you already," she pokes him hard in the chest. "he can't come! He's in a lot of trouble and I'm doing everything I can to help him _and_ you, so the _very least_ you can do is not treat me like your enemy!" For a second he almost feels bad, but that's just because he's not the kind of guy who gets his kicks out of upsetting little girls.

Except this isn't a little girl; it's an ancient feathered jerk who's manipulated some little girl into giving it control over her body.  And no one just _helps_ -there’s always a price. One that usually ends up landing all three of them in a worse jam than the last one.

"Yeah, well forgive me for being rightfully suspicious about someone who shows up at _exactly_ the right time-someone who tricks a _child_ into housing them while they fly all over getting into..” he can only guess, but can’t be anything good. “ _God_ only knows what kind of shit! What do your services cost-more kids for the douchebags Upstairs to toss into the fire?" He’s on his Very. Last. Nerve.  And well beyond fed up with being cornered by Heaven and Hell when he and his family are at their most desperate and vulnerable.

Shaking her head from side to side, the angel grinds her teeth. "You gonna let me help him or not?" Dean scowls silently down at her.

Exhaling heavily, the angel cocks her head and takes a step backward. He thinks she's about to take off when she quietly says "You thought he was Lucifer at first," the pit of his stomach drops right the fuck out of his body. "In Hell." Dean's throat constricts and he swallows harshly as she continues.

"You thought that Castiel was the brightest and most beautiful creature in existence when he found you," the ground sways under him as he falls backward onto the end of the bed, almost crushing Sam's feet beneath him. "You thought that he was displeased with your work and had come to punish you for a lackluster job."

"Stop." He whispers and she does.

The grungy tiles blur as he forces those damn tears back into his skull for the millionth time. Silence blankets the room, punctuated only by those _fucking machines_ keeping Sam's body alive. He tries to pull that silence into himself too, but all he can hear is screaming and he’s not even sure who that voice belongs to. Maybe it’s a composite.

"Dean," he looks up at the shuffle of her footsteps. "he wouldn't have told me something like that unless the circumstances were dire, and they very obviously are." He can't make himself look into her face to see the pity and disgust he knows he'll find there. It feels more like having his lungs ripped out of his chest than having the sense verbally slapped back into him. "So will you _please_ let me help your brother?"

What’s he going to say at this point-‘no, let’s wait and see if _God_ does step on down and serve up a good old-fashioned miracle’? After everything Sam’s been through; after he was willing to sacrifice himself in order to board up Hell? Just let his little brother slowly and painfully rot away in some third-rate excuse for a hospital in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere? All alone?

It takes him a moment to remember how to nod. Funny how his body answers for him. It reacts to the truth in her words before his mind can fully make sense of it. The little angel claps a hand over his shoulder as she passes him on the way to the front of the bed. The hunter stands shakily, watching her movements with apprehension. Placing an absurdly small hand over Sam's enormous forehead, she frowns.

"What?" Dean moves beside her, watching for any change in his condition. He doesn't even twitch. Without taking her gaze off of Sam, she holds the Pepsi out.

"Hold onto this for me." He does. "I need to talk to him." Dean begins to open his mouth and gets cut off. "Be quiet and don't you _dare_ steal any of my soda." She glances up at him. "You had your chance and you said no."

Where did Cas even find her? In the ball pit of some Heavenly Plucky’s? Shit, that’s a helluva image. Rolling up her sleeves, she extends both arms to cover Sam's eyes with her palms.

"Wish me luck." The air in the room stills and the lights flicker.

"Hey, try not to bust those things." Dean points the half-emptied bottle at the life-support. She turns to glare at him again. "And good luck."

Focusing back on Sam, the stranger closes her eyes and goes stiff as the dead. The actual dead, not the kind they've spent most of their lives fighting. The kind that Sam is dangerously close to becoming if this doesn't work.

“Hang on, Sammy,” he mouths, barely breathing at all. “help’s coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fun Fact* Nemo's vessel is loosely based off Tanveer K. Atwal, the actress who played [Sati](http://i58.tinypic.com/26208wn.jpg) in _The Matrix Revolutions_.
> 
> You guys ready for a serious re-haul of Season Nine? It's a pretty good mix here all rolled into one bulging package! Not that kind, you pervs :3 Although _that kind_ will certainly be present as well :3
> 
> Updates will be kind of sporadic through June, as I am juggling this along with Destiel Con prep *runs around in circles, screaming as spontaneous combustion occurs* Myself, [Dori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dori) & [K_K_TiBal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/K_K_TiBal) will be running the panel **Smells Like Team Free Will Spirit: Setting the Tone in Fanfic**. So if you're going to Destiel Con '14, come by and listen to us nerd out about Destiel fic!
> 
> Shameless plug concluded! Comments of any kind are desired and encouraged, but keep the criticism constructive. Always on the look-out for betas, so drop me a line if you're interested in betaing this beast! Seriously, this thing is gonna be looooooong-we've got a whole damn season to span! Plus all the extras that I've written before finishing the actual main story ^_^;
> 
> I love you to pieces if you made it this far! Strap in, dears-we've got a lot of road ahead of us.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a fireside chat with Death and Nemo crashes the party, uninvited. Maybe she should have brought some food?

He’s been given a choice in the matter. It’s unexpected and the answer _should_ be obvious. It really should, but it’s not. One way or the other, he _should_ have a strong opinion, right? But he doesn’t. That isn’t normal- not that he is, but the answer isn’t supposed to be this hard.

"Sam, you can voice these things aloud, you know." He glances up from the vague patterns he’s been tracing into his jeans, meeting Death's gaze anxiously.

"Oh, sorry. This whole thing is…" he chuckles. “I don't even know where to begin." He's rambling to an entity not exactly known for his patience. Who's half-smirking at him for being as slow as he is.

"Don't be so short with yourself. You are what you are." Death leans back in the chair, twining his bony fingers together beneath his chin and Sam's eyes go straight to the bulky ring that contrasts his nearly translucent skin. "Which is human. A remarkable human, certainly, but a human nonetheless."

"Um, thank you?" It's uncertain whether that’s meant as a compliment or not.

"It isn't." the smirk becomes a grin. "It's a simple fact." He tilts his head to the side, regarding Sam thoughtfully. "You've played your role and then some."

Sam scoffs bitterly. "Being Lucifer's vessel, you mean?" Death inclines his head.

"And I thank you for sending him back to Time Out. That child needs a spanking the likes of which this world has never seen." That’s an image he could do without.

"Yeah well, thanks for going in there for my soul," he shifts, feeling itchy under that fathomless gaze. "And for the Wall and everything." Death lowers his hands into his lap.

"A pity Castiel had to go and _smash it down_ like that." the entire fragmented experience leaves a sour taste in Sam's mouth. "Not to boast, but it really was one of my finer designs. I so rarely get to work on the living, but I do enjoy the challenge when it presents itself." The light from the fireplace flickers, drawing the horseman's attention. "But the even greater pity," he squints into the flames. "would be the events that _fool_ set into motion when he did so."

"Cas fixed it though," Death peers up from the hearth. "I mean he didn't _fix_ it, but he made up for it pretty well, I'd say." He's rambling again because an answer- _the answer_ -hasn't come to him yet.

"We're not here to discuss him though, are we?" Sam shifts again. "We're here to discuss _you_."

"Sorry." He blurts out. “ _Again_.” Death actually does smile at that.

"Well it's obvious where all the etiquette in your family was distributed." The word ' _family_ ' has a weight to it that Sam's not sure it should have. Death quirks an eyebrow at the flames as they dance wildly. Sam stares at them too. What does that mean?

"That we have a visitor." Death indicates the door just as it swings open and a girl Sam's never seen before enters.

"You know, this set looks an awful lot like the cabin from that one movie," she shuts the door behind her and frowns at the surrounding decor. "Um," she snaps her fingers and screws up her face in pained concentration. "that one with all the green oatmeal, and rapey vines and everyone's screaming _'Dead by Dawn'_ over and over, while that guy with the chainsaw hand slices everything up."

Sam's about to correct her when Death stands, smoothing his suit out. "What do you want?" Oh, so she isn't just another hallucination. "No, she isn't." The girl pouts at his tone.

" _Rude_." She places her hands on her hips. "It sounds as if you'd like me to be."

"On the contrary, my dear. It's merely been so long that I was starting to wonder if you were." Sam is starting to feel like an intruder inside his own head.

"As if." She snorts before addressing Sam. "And _don't._ You're the reason why I'm here." Now thoroughly confused, Sam gets to his feet as Death eyes the girl with clear disapproval. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the newcomer since she’s entered.

Sam clears his throat. "Sorry, do I know you?" Sparing Death a glance, she grins slyly.

"Geez, he _is_ polite," then back to Sam. "But no-I mean we _kinda_ do, but not formally or anything. I'll introduce myself when you wake up because you're not going to remember any of this, so I’ll save it till then." _When_ he wakes up…

"And _what_ are you going by these days, anyhow?" Death glowers at her and again Sam has the strongest inclination to flee. The horseman finally turns from her. "I wouldn't, Sam. You'll just get _stuck_ somewhere in-between and no one wants that."

"He's right," a hint of teeth glints through the girl’s grin. "I know it's awkward but this won't take much longer." She crosses her arms, focusing on Death. "And it's _Nemo_ now, to answer your question." He grimaces.

"How terribly clever."

"I thought so."

"I'll ask you again, what do you want?" Nemo nods at Sam and Death actually groans. "What are you plotting this time?" She sticks her tongue out at him. "You _child_." There's an edge to his voice that cuts through the surreal atmosphere, and despite her casual choice of clothing, she curtsies expertly.

Just when this whole thing couldn’t get any weirder. Death huffs and averts his concentration from the two of them, opting to examine his spotless cuticles instead. It's a pretty baffling exchange so far.

"Let's just hope she doesn't start throwing a tantrum when she doesn't get her way." He twists the ring around his finger. Leaving her spot near the entrance, Nemo strides over to Sam.

"I won't have to because I’m getting what I want." Having no say over the direction of his life is one thing, but now he doesn’t get that in death either? Right, of course not.

"Uh-" Sam cuts in, beginning to raise his hand before lowering it awkwardly. Not in school anymore, man.

"But you could be." Death sighs resignedly at her statement and lowers himself into the chair once more, rapping his nails neatly on the arm; all the while glaring icily at Nemo. "I mean if you _wanted_ to."

"Hah," Sam scratches behind his ear. "Please don't take this the wrong way, Nemo," she bows her head, projecting an air of unfaltering confidence. "But why are you here, specifically? I'm pretty sure I'm about to die."

"Not if she gets a say." Death murmurs and the girl turns her head to wink at the horseman.

"And I _do_ -so have a seat, Sam." He does. "I'm guessing he's already asked," she pulls up another chair, seemingly out of the ether. "But let me rephrase the question: Do you want to _live_?" It really shouldn't be this hard. Nemo bends forward to pat his knee delicately. "Forget _should_ and _shouldn't_. What is it that _you_ _want_?" Death clears his throat and Sam's attention flickers to him. "Ignore Mr. Grim.” He visibly stiffens when Nemo waves a hand dismissively at him. “He's just grouchy because he doesn't like his authority being threatened."

"You're hardly threatening it, darling. You’re just making a foolish mistake." That really doesn’t sound good. Nemo hmmms in consideration, but overall seems unperturbed by the bleak statement.  

"And don't feel pressured to say _'I want to die'_ just because _he's_ here and has a flair for the dramatic." Death shakes his head slightly but says nothing and Nemo continues to stare patiently at Sam. Alright then, excluding that discouraging remark…What he wants...what _he_ wants...

"I want..." it's hard to remember what he wants because all of that stopped mattering a long time ago.

Sam’s tried to find it several times and for a while there he might have, but it always comes back to what’s required of him. He’s become an expert at burying his hopes, dreams, wants. So much that he can’t even remember where he buried them or what they were beyond vague generalities.

"Let me guess,” she taps a spot on her own leg. “you don't really know what it is that you _do_ want, only what you _don't want_?" He swallows and nods. He's so damn tired, and trying to make big decisions when you’re in a coma isn’t exactly straightforward.

"Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea of that at least." Tired of the Daily Grind. Of the same dingy motels, cheap drive-thrus and ungrateful rescues that make up the _good_ days. Tired of trying to make the world a better place, only screwing it up more and _never_ being allowed to forget it. He's tired of fighting monsters, the apocalypse, and destiny with nothing to show for it except _more_ failure. But out of all that crap, he’s mostly tired of fighting Dean; of trying to meet some standard he knows isn’t healthy for either of them. A standard he doesn’t even want most of the time but strives for anyway because it’s all he knows. It’s all he knows how to do _right_.  “I’m tired of being tired.”

An unnatural silence settles over the room. Even the fire is muted as it continues to burn. Nemo scratches her chin thoughtfully and Death appears bored, as if he knows the end to this chapter and is just waiting for the rest of the characters to figure it out.

Realistically, what awaits him in life? He _does_ know the answer to that. More of the same. And yeah, he feels like a total dick at the thought of leaving Dean to go at it alone, but would it be so bad? Hell, maybe with Sam gone, his brother can actually go pick up the whole apple pie life again or at least something similar. Not with Lisa and Ben obviously, but Dean could find someone else. He could at least _try_ to have that family he unconvincingly swears up and down he doesn’t want. If Sam awakens, they’ll pick up right where they left off. It’s the only thing he knows for certain and he _doesn’t_ want that.

“I don’t know the future, Sam.” Nemo intones quietly after a time. “None of us do-not even he does.” She tilts her head towards Death. “So I can’t promise that if you live it’ll be totally different than it is now.” Yeah, that’s what he thought. “But I can guarantee that if you choose to end it here and now that you’ll never find out.” She straightens up, and for the first time since she’s entered Sam gets a sense of her true age. “Also, you _do_ get a say in whether you live or die and if you choose life, you’ll get a say in that too.”

Sam shakes his head, grinning bitterly. “I never do.” Nemo glares at him.

“Then speak up.” Her voice reflects the frustration he feels and somehow her eyes reflect the fire behind her. “And don’t say _’it isn’t that simple’_ , because it is.” He closes his mouth, searching for another argument. “Isn’t that what you and your family do? Fight the tyranny of destiny in the name of free will?” He laughs, noticing the way that Death appears to be slightly more interested in the conversation now.

“For normal people, sure. For us, it’s like we’re…”he chews his lip, trying to find a fitting analogy. Those terrible books come to mind. “It’s like we’re characters following a script and whoever’s writing it is a sadistic asshole who just,” he closes his eyes, but it doesn’t stop him from seeing the constructed room of his mind or the two beings within it awaiting his decision. “Just won’t let us _stop_.”

“I think most of us feel that way.” Nemo deflates a little, and her eyes gloss over with unspoken recollection. “I’m tired too.” She chuckles drily. “I’m older than your entire species, so believe me when I say I get it.” Well, if that doesn’t make him feel like a whiny brat. But Nemo just gives him a kind look free of judgment. It’s almost unheard of in someone who knows of his crimes. “I envy your youth.” Hearing that come out of a child’s mouth is weird, even if she is ancient. “And yes, you are young-whether you believe it or not.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, it’s not as if he can argue in present company. Death bends his head appreciatively.

“I just know that if I go with him,” Sam indicates Death “Then at least I’m ensuring it will change. Yeah, I won’t be able to feel fresh air on my face, or listen to the Chili Peppers anymore, or get a dog or a girlfriend-so what? It also means I can _stop_ , and that’s what I want.” Death seems as if he’s about to say something but Nemo holds up her hand without actually having to see him.

“You want to stop living the life that you think is your only option.”

“Yeah.”

“Key word being _think_.” Death tugs on his cuff to check his watch.

“Again, I don’t mean any disrespect, but you said it yourself-there’s no guarantee.” Nemo frowns as Sam continues. “With him, there is.”

Death rejoins the conversation. “The boy has clearly made his choice, so I suggest—“

“The problem is Dean, isn’t it?” She speaks loudly over him and he stops mid-sentence. “I mean he’s the main reason you think you can’t live your own life, right?” Even in a coma, the chill that spreads through Sam’s gut is unmistakable. He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t have to. “That’s what I thought.”

Nemo slants her head. “Well, the answer’s obvious then.” The cold spikes into panic. “Oh relax, I don’t mean anything sinister by it. He’s a real _jerk_ , but he’s cool.”

“Do tell then, we’re all _dying_ of curiosity.” Nemo twists in her chair to face Death.

“Seriously?” He quirks an eyebrow at her and shrugs. With an expression of exasperated disbelief, she turns back to Sam, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, it’s plain to me that the two of you, while impressively dynamic and loyal, suffer from an unhealthy amount of co-dependency.” Sam huffs matter-of-factly. The way people talk about them, it always sounds as if they’re lovers-which, _ew_. Death grimaces while Nemo fights a smile and doesn’t quite manage to squelch it. Seriously, EW.

“That’s one way of putting it, I guess.” Moving on.

“It’s because he uses you as a replacement for the family unit he craves and you’re still trying to learn how use those overgrown wings that keep tripping you up.”  Sam blinks.

“That’s actually pretty accurate.” Well, they are inside his head after all.

“ _Ah-hah_! Now we’re getting somewhere.” She claps her hands together while Death checks his watch again.

“I don’t mean to _actually_ be rude, but I do have other appointments to keep and this one is running a bit long.” Nemo jumps to her feet.

“Sam, you do realize that that’s most of the problem, right? I mean, would you mind the other stuff so badly if you at least had control over your spare time?” He tries to cut Dean out of the equation, but with him it’s all or nothing. Maybe a few years ago, before the Apocalypse, that would have worked. But now…?

“I don’t think it makes much of a difference.”

She groans loudly and stomps her foot with each word. “YES. IT. DOES!” Death smirks.

“What did I tell you?” She ignores him.

“Ok, _tell you_ what, can we at least reschedule this meeting?” She turns to Death. “A year-that’s pretty long for a human, right?” Death shrugs again and she turns back to Sam.

“Can you do that for me, Sam? One year to see if you can float without a life vest? Is that too much to ask-one year to start living your life _for you_?” Clear desperation distorts her features into a plea and he has to ask

“Why do you care so much?” Death steps forward.

“Because it’s her job.”

“Because someone has to!” Nemo all but yells, and Sam isn’t sure whether he imagines the unshed tears glistening in her eyes or not.

It’s such a bizarre reaction that more than anything else, Sam just wants to figure out _why_ a being as discernibly important as she is seems to want him alive so badly. It can’t be for any good reason. Her tears threaten to spill over at that last thought. Awesome.

He’s the last to stand. This is probably a really stupid idea. “Ok,” Sam sets his jaw as Nemo’s tiny lips uplift a little. “One year.” He lifts his gaze to Death. “Err-is that alright?” Nemo spins so fast she’s almost a blur and the stare she gives Death is so challenging that Sam almost expects her to start snarling.

Death considers them both and dips his head in defeat. “A year it is then.” Nemo pumps her fist in the air.

“YES!”

“But do try not to make it premature, Sam. I’m already running late enough as it is and you Winchesters have managed to throw my schedule off so much that I’d be laughingstock among my peers, _if_ I had any.” Sam recalls the other horsemen; even if any were left, they wouldn’t really be on _Death’s_ level.

“Yeah, try not to. And sorry, about that it’s really not intentional.” Sam looks down at Nemo. “You said I won’t remember any of this though, so how—“ she grabs hold of his wrist with both hands

“You don’t need to.” and starts to haul him towards the door.

“Oh, and uh,” Death smirks. “ _Nemo_?”

“Huh?” She continues to pull Sam towards the exit.

“Whatever it is you’re planning,” they both turn to look at him. “Actually _plan_ it out this time.” She winks, clicks her tongue, and fires off an imaginary shot at him with her index finger.

“Trust me, Death, I’ve got this.”

And then the horseman and the cabin are gone, leaving Sam choking and gasping for air as he yanks weakly and unsuccessfully at the plastic tubing in his nostrils that goes all the way down into his stomach. A hospital-that’s where he is, so that means…

“Sam, Sammy, slow down it’s ok! You’re gonna be fine-he’s gonna be fine, right?” Dean is there, and so is some kid who’s trying to wrestle a bottle of soda from his brother’s vicegrip.

“Of course he is,” she yanks it free and gazes tragically at the foamy contents as if someone just died. “Aw man, wha’d you do? It’s nothing but fizz now!”

“Relax, kid I’ll buy you a new one.” She tosses it behind her, where it rolls somewhere off beyond Sam’s vision and bounces off the wall.

“You’d _better_ , after all that.” Sam tries to speak and ends up hacking with the intrusion stuffed down his trachea.

“Hold on, Sammy.” Dean punches a button on one of the machines surrounding the hospital bed repeatedly before sprinting to the door. “Hey, can I get a nurse or doctor or someone in here?!” When Sam turns back to the girl is gone.

“Dean?” he rasps.

“Yeah?” Holding the door open, Dean glances at him in concern.

“Who was that girl?” He shakes his head before going back to scanning for assistance.

“A friend, or at least not an enemy of Cas’. Hey Doc, get your over-paid ass in here and unhook my _very conscious_ brother from this shit STAT!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fun Fact* In case anyone missed it, the movies Nemo mixes up into one are the original _Evil Dead_ s 1  & 2.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abaddon catches a midnight feature and gains a fan with her explosive entrance. Sam and Dean escape from the most under-funded hospital in the country and get off to a charming start with the new boss Upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **!!!Fair Warning!!!** : This chapter has a decent amount of disturbing material-including mentions of underage torture and descriptive gore-in Abaddon's POV.

It takes her an obscenely long time to find a willing dissident who’s dumb enough to trust with the task and smart enough to actually carry it out. Every demon she once called _ally_ has been bought off, just like the rest of them. She watches and listens when she isn’t guarding the Body. Too weakened to scour the globe, she stays in the First World and she waits. For _too damn long_ , she waits. Finally she catches a whiff of sulfur mixed in with something pure that bleeds across a cornfield in Iowa. Curiously, she stops to watch a girl in filthy rags hobble towards the promise of freedom under the darkness of the New Moon. The beaten and broken adolescent smells delirious and dehydrated. What’s left of her mind knows that the end is near. And yet a tiny, desperate hope flickers on the edge of her parched tongue.

“Artemis, Hel, Isis, Gaia…” the girl huffs the names of goddesses that no longer have the power to hear her.

She stumbles on twisted feet that haven’t healed properly after months of being smashed in with blunt objects. Apparently those gods are now popular tokens in this country of what they once reigned over in their own times and regions.  Perhaps the girl is a _pagan_ who once had models of them on her nightstand, back when liberty came as effortlessly as breathing.

Panting and wheezing, the girl glances up every few steps at the blackened and overcast sky. The rumbling of a smaller vehicle built for off-road travel slowly fills the night. _ATV_ , She thinks it’s called. It squeals loudly (the driver having left the parking brake on) but not louder than its’ three male passengers who holler drunkenly at the girl to ‘ _Run-Run for her life_ ’. The girl’s already going as fast as she can, which is even slower now because her reserves are burning out quickly.

“Luna, Ma’at, Ishtar, _Ka_ _—li_ _—_ “ She coughs, falling to her mangled knees and barely managing to hoist herself up.

The girl isn’t even invoking her deities properly. Then again, remembering their names at all must take every ounce of willpower she has left; every bit not directed at shambling on blindly. The men will catch up to her soon and even if they don’t, her heart is less than a minute away from shuddering out its’ final desperate beat.

“Cummon, sweetheart ! Double-time, let’s _mooooove_ it!” One of them hanging off the side whoops and chucks a bottle off into the distance where it shatters into pieces, impaling a vole that will die in gradual anguish. The corn ends where the path of the headlights hasn’t touched yet.

“Freya,” the girl gulps. “Hecate, Minerv—“ Then she tumbles down an embankment and splits her head open on a rock at the bottom. She’s killed instantly; one of her gods must have been listening after all.

Her pursuers pull up soon after, asking each other where she could’ve gone. They sound anxious, until their lights roll over the lip of the hill. “Yo Travis, go check it out!” Travis, the one who threw the bottle, jumps off the vehicle and almost crumples into a heap. Righting himself, he jogs over to the shallow precipice and takes a wobbly look down into it before calling out

“Heeeeey we got a problem!” The other two gripe as they slide off the ATV, darting in front of the beams that cut through the darkness. One of them is obese and wheezes sickeningly as he waddles after his friends.

All three peer down at the motionless body. They smell like a buffet of cheap alcohol, methamphetamine, and sexually transmitted disease.  The shirtless driver-who’s as lanky as the other is corpulent-eases his way down the slope. Skidding to the bottom, he kneels down to flip her over and curses when he notices the gash. Holding a discolored hand out over the girl’s cracked lips, he squints into her unseeing eyes and waits for a breath that never comes.

“Bad luck, boys! The _friggin_ _’ rock_ got her first!” The driver jumps to his feet, swaying a little.

“For real?!” The fat one pounds a meaty fist on his bloated thigh. “You serious, Mark? That’s fuckin’ _lame_!!”

“Shuddup, Brian!” They stand in silence until Mark rips his cap off and throws it into the dirt nearby. “ _Shhhh-iiit_!” He leans back, cradling his skull with bony hands. “Well, Plan A’s _fucked_! Any suggestions?”

“I’ve got one, boys.” The two at the top spin around.

“Who the fu—“

The top part of Travis’ head is torn from his jaws with a spray of blood as it sails off into the night. She got the feeling from that one that he had a big mouth to start with.  Yelling, Brian tries to make a run for it but is slightly impeded when his torso is ripped diagonally in-half. Impressive, considering his ample bulk. He’s still alive when the upper half rolls down the hill and knocks into Mark’s legs, causing him to stumble backwards.

The last man standing howls; alcohol fueling his terror, rage and stupidity simultaneously. He yanks a stained magnum out of his pants, attempting to hold it steady at the obscured assailant. The man- _the demon,_ donned in a truly _terrifying_ mechanic’s uniform is silhouetted by the headlights. It’s all terribly cinematic.

“What was it you were _braying_ out there?” Mark steps back, nearly tripping over the girl’s body.

“Y-you’ll pay for that! They were my kin, you _son of a whore_!!” He fires off three rounds into the lesser demon’s chest before the other makes a flicking gesture and the weapon flies off far beyond Mark’s reach.

“I think it was ‘ _Run sweetheart-run fer yer life!_ ’ ” He mocks a stereotypical Alabamian accent (these yokels aren’t even _from_ Alabama) before leaping down into the ditch to land in front of the doomed fool. “ _Well_ ,” he whispers, stepping right up into the terrified man’s face. “Run, Forest,” his eyes blacken. “ _RUUUUUN_!”

It’s fun to watch, but she’s wasted enough time on the show already. The man doesn’t have a chance to flee before she rushes to fill his putrid body. It feels like trying to cram herself into an infant’s onesie and it _reeks_ , but this won’t take long.

“Huh.” The demon stands his ground, cocking his head as she shoves the rest of herself into _Mark_. “You look like a sausage ready to burst in that loser. Who are you? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“My name is Abaddon,” His eyes widen as they revert to brown. “And I have a request to make of you.” He takes a faltering step back.

“ _The_ Abaddon? I’d heard, but I thought they were just rumors.” She shakes her head once and he bows slightly. It’ll need improvement but it’s a start. “S-shit, sorry! I’m just…wow, uh, what’s the request?” He doesn’t blindly agree without hearing her out first. Not as stupid as he appears at first glance.

Grinning, Abaddon feels Mark’s lips curl over several rotting teeth. _Fucking_ repulsive. “I need you to restore _my_ body. I’m sorry, your name was…?” He nods a bit sycophantically but she can’t blame him for his anxiety.

“It’s Jason. Yeah sure, Aba-err, _my lady_.” Correcting hastily, he begins to sweat. It’s almost cute. Abaddon beams at him and a piece of that girl’s thigh becomes dislodged from between Mark’s molars. Tastes young, but the meat’s sour from abuse. Swallowing it down, she glances over the kiddy murderer’s body with visible disgust.

“ _Jason_ , you’ll follow me, but first,” Mark has athlete’s foot, chlamydia, and another disease she's never even encountered that will require further research. “I have a bit of _clean up_ to do.”

Burrowing herself deep into the wretched body, she weaves in-between fibrous tissues latticing over dense muscle and tendons. Abaddon nestles into the countless microscopic pores that dot across organs, veins and bone. “You might-” she grunts, ignoring Mark’s screams as she settles in and begins to expand.

“-want to step back.” She chokes down one of his agonized cries as she pushes at the confines of his marrow.

He does, watching in fascination as her transitory meatsuit twitches and jerks. Jason’s gaze roves over veins as they begin to bulge, then rupture as patches of blood bloom under the skin. The lesser demon scrambles out of the trench. He stares in horrified awe as Mark’s darkening flesh starts to bubble and fissure, vital fluids spraying onto the corpses and dusty Earth below.

She exercises a hint of restraint, blocking off multiple embolisms that want to travel to the brain and end it prematurely. Muffled cracks are audible as bones all over his body splinter from the pressure building inside them. Abaddon smiles internally-she can’t with Mark’s mouth. Not with rotten teeth shattering while the few healthy ones are either crushed between rapidly swelling gums or ejected altogether. The lips are no good either; they fuse as his facial tissues melt. It feels so good to be able to _stretch_ ; his body is so _pathetically_ small.

His consciousness has dissolved into an even lower form of animal under the excruciating pain. Now its’ only capable of squealing pitifully at the sensations racking it apart. One of his intact ribs pierces through the right lung before a long-suffering shriek can escape, but she ensures that a tortured whimper does. Its’ unable to leave his mouth and it can barely be made out over all the crunching and snapping. Jason hears it though and he’s fighting an urge he shouldn’t have to be sick. This one will need a lot of conditioning if he intends to join her. It’s a bit taxing to draw it out like this but first impressions are _very_ important. And judging by the lesser demon’s unnerved visage just before Mark’s corneas burst, the display is _very_ well-received.

>>> 

“ _Woah there_ , Tiger. Take it easy.”

“Dean, I can walk just fine.” Sam grunts, taking two steps. His legs give out and he has to clutch onto the rims of the wheelchair to keep from crashing into the cement.  Dean laughs with his entire body, letting everything he’s bottled up for close to a week come out with it.

“Yeah, they’re gonna have to put lead weights in your shoes just to make it fair to the other runners!” He lets Sam maneuver himself back into the thing, even if sweat breaks out across his caveman brow from the effort. 

“Shut up.” His brother grumbles, spinning his wheels furiously in the opposite direction. He doesn’t get very far.

“Hey, Flash- brake’s on!”  Dean makes a show of strolling leisurely after him. Sam catches it when he turns instinctively at the sound of his voice. “Good thing it’s still Fall or you’d be screwed with the ice out here.” Sam slows, huffing as he shakes his head.

“Tell me about it.” he mutters as he releases the brake and glowers down at the chair. “Everything about this place is a death trap!” Sam shoots over his shoulder, giving the hospital a departing shudder. “You know, if she hadn’t shown up when she did, I probably _would_ be dead.”

“You can thank Fun Size when she shows up for that Coke.” Dean withdraws the phone from his pocket and sends a quick text to Kevin asking if they’ve got any cans at the Bunker.

“Yeah, what was up with that? Since when do angels drink soda?” Half-turning his head, Sam quirks an eyebrow as Dean stows his cell.

“Cas had that thing for burgers. Pretty sure he chows down on a couple a year.” He definitely does because each time, Dean has to tell him _not_ to look and sound like he’s approaching orgasm while eating. “I dunno, guess some of ‘em are just like that.”

A flush creeps up under his collar. The hunter is remembering the last time he let Cas have a bite of his double bacon cheeseburger. He frowns at the worn leather back of the chair, as if the recurring awkwardness is Sam’s doing.

“Still no word from him?” Dean pushes back the anxiety that the question stirs up.

“Nah. My guess is she’s gonna be our go-between till things cool off Upstairs.” Cas is a big boy-in the sense that he can look after himself. Not in any other…hey, look at that- _Garbage_! They pass a stretch of wilted flowerbeds strewn with an impressive accumulation of drive-thru trash.

“Yeah, probably smarter that way.” Sam views the dew-spotted display glinting in the afternoon sunlight with disdain. “Remind me to make a list of _acceptable_ hospitals for you next time.” His tone snags a little on the ‘ _next time_ ’, but Dean decides to ignore it.

“I’ve already got a list.” When they reach the parking structure, Dean squints up at it, blocking out the pale yellow orb sitting on top with his forearm. Which floor did he park on? This garage has corresponding colors but he can’t remember that either.

“Yeah-of diners, strip joints, bars and _junk_.” Sam stops to follow his brother’s gaze. “Not of anything useful. You seriously can’t remember which level?” Dean had originally skidded to a halt outside the drop-off and hadn’t returned to park his Baby until one of the nurses had threatened him with towing it.

“After hauling your 300-pound ass into the ER, I’m surprised they didn’t hafta hook _me_ up to the oxygen. It was a miracle I was conscious enough to drive at all after that.” Hmmmmm he’d gone up at least twice so… “It’s gotta be three or higher. You wanna wait for curbside or scoot on up?”

“I’m not staying here _a_ _second_ longer than I have to.” Sam starts wheeling himself toward the elevator and Dean follows. He frowns at the vandalized doors as they struggle open.

It’s cramped in here-stinks of stale urine and vomit. The casing for the first floor button has fallen off  and the whole thing creaks like it’s about to plummet straight through to China. On the plus side, the light fixtures don’t even flicker and Dean can’t make out any dead bugs inside of them. Of course, that could be because each strip is bright enough to floodlight a coal mine.

“Seriously,” Sam hisses and wrinkles his nose when the elevator jitters out of hibernation. “I am making that list the first chance I get. I’ve seen hospices with better funding than this.”

The little metal box rocks on up to the 2nd floor. Dean checks his phone-which doesn’t even vibrate when a text comes through. The scuffed screen shows one unread message.

“You mean that one in Grand Rapids?” Dean tries _not_ to focus on the way the momentum stutters like a boxer well past his glory days.

Kevin’s reply reads: _No just a 1/3 of OJ and really crappy beer. Want me to get some?_ He responds: _Nvmnd then. Get some on the way back_ before stuffing it back into his pocket. It’s in his head-the way it feels like the elevator drops a little when they pass Level Two.

“I forgot about that one. That was the one with the, uh,” Sam screws up his face in concentration, snapping his fingers. “No, that was the one that ordered out for Thai once a month, right?” Despite the smell, saliva instantly floods Dean’s mouth at the memory of those orange-marinated beef skewers steeped in red curry and dunked in rice.

“Oooooh _God yes_ , what was that place called? _Bangkok Lotus_ or something like that?” Sam smirks up at him.

“Didn’t you jot it down in your _list_?” Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, the doors open after a three-second endeavor that Dean grinds his teeth through. He wheels Sam out of there as fast as he possibly can.

“Ugh, I need a shower after that.”  He stops and scrutinizes the layout for Baby. There’s barely anyone in that hospital-how are there so many cars in here?

“You need a shower anyway. I was in a coma. What was your excuse?” Not down this row.

“Keep talkin’ and if she’s not on this floor, you can take the Chamber of Horrors to the next one _alone_. I’m celebrating my fully-functioning legs by running up the stairs.” Or this one.

“I am _not_ getting back in there. You can carry me again if you have that much energy.” Last row left- _please_ let it be this one.

“I don’t think my back could…” The air shifts when they round the corner, accompanied by that unmistakable sound of wing beats.  There’s the Impala. And standing in front of the trunk are three suits. Two guys-one as unimpressive as the other is _huge_ -and a brunette woman in a bun, with an expression like she’s just stepped in dog crap. “Well look at that, we’ve got ourselves an entourage!” Are they here for Crowley? The warding in the trunk is good, but not enough to shield the King of Hell from Holy perception.

The man in front-scratch that-the silver-haired _titan_ at the head of the pack is the first to speak. “We were starting to fear that you might’ve gotten lost.” Seriously, even if Sam were standing this guy would probably _still_ be taller. He’s built like a freaking Norse God and his voice is so deep that the hunter can imagine horses rearing when he talks.

“Nope, just admiring the scenery. This is one of the finest garages we’ve ever been in.” Dean’s suspicions are cycloning round his head so rapidly he can barely focus on one thought at a time.

Did these guys touch down from the clouds just _now_ , or did they overhear the brothers discussing Cas and Sam’s mysterious savior?  For once, Dean’s glad that he’s in the dark about his friend’s whereabouts -just in case they decide to literally pry open his brain.

The woman smirks. How did these jerks even _find_ them here?  “I’d believe it.” She states and King Viking half-turns in her direction.

“Well that’s a rather crass assumption to make, Ruth.” She stiffens.

The dude _does_ look like he’d be at home on some ancient battlefield, swinging a hammer half his size into a dragon’s roaring maw. He could probably manage it easy enough. Despite the hair, the guy doesn’t _look_ old. Early 50’s maybe.

“Apologize.” He says quietly and Ruth manages an apology that makes it sound as if she’s severely constipated.

Odin, or whatever turns back to them, smiling, and it is absolutely the _creepiest_ thing that Dean’s seen in a long time. Maybe they were listening in on his prayers to Cas, tracking them to the source. Brilliant, Winchester; you’re a goddamn genius.

“Now then, I believe introductions are in order.” He gestures toward the man on his left, who actually looks pretty familiar now that he’s been singled out. “This is Inias,” To his right. “Ruth.” He opens both arms to either side. “And I am Zadkiel.” Sam sits up straighter in his chair. Maybe What’s-Her-Name ratted them out; ratted Cas out.

“I’m Dean, this is Sam.” He gets out before his brother can react to whatever it is that caught his interest. Some angel lore probably.  If they know where Cas is, do they just want Crowley? He’s spinning in circles here.

“Zadkiel? Most sources agree it was _you_ who stopped Abraham from sacrificing Isaac.” _Aaand_ there he goes. Leave it to Sam to start geeking out before they even know what these dicks want-which can’t possibly be anything good.

Bowing his head in confirmation, Zadkiel brings his arms in front of him. He clasps one bear-sized hand over the other. “Yes, I’d heard you were a scholar, Sam. A rare trait in a hunter. I trust it’s served you well.” Then it hits Dean why Inias looks so familiar.

“Hey wait, you were there with that one bitch,” Inias tilts his head a fraction of an inch, jaw twitching imperceptibly. “You took Kevin back to his house, where leviathans got the drop on him _and_ his mom. Last I heard they’d wiped out your entire garrison.”

“You’re referring to Hester.” Inias tilts his chin up, a hint of indignity layering his voice. “Yes, I had to report the details of her death after your _demon friend_ murdered her. So I left the Prophet with two of our most accomplished sentries,” he inclines his head. “Who were then slaughtered by leviathan.” Ruth’s eyes dart between her partner and the human. That one could stand to learn a thing or two about subtlety.

“Dark times.” Zadkiel intones, not appearing the least bit surprised at the exchange unfolding before him. “We’re working to make them brighter.” Sam stiffens and Dean tightens his grip on the rubber-coated handles of the chair. “However, there’s a considerable amount of work to be done in the wake of Naomi’s death.” So down goes the wicked witch, huh? Good riddance.

“She’s dead?” Sam leans forward slightly and Zadkiel lowers his gaze to him specifically.

“Murdered.”

“When? By who?” Dean uses the wrong word on purpose just to see if it will ruffle any of their feathers. Somehow, Ruth’s expression sours even more. He half expects her to start clucking.

“The same night you boys aborted the Demon Trials.” The New Boss (he’s gotta be) answers without the slightest indication of concern either way.  “We’re still working on the _whom_ ,” Here we go. “Which is where you two come in.”

“We aren’t exactly _in the know_ when it comes to the politics going on Upstairs.” Dean tries to say it as flatly as possible, but some bitterness probably found its’ way in there. He’s never been good at playing nice, especially with authority. Zad lets loose that shit-eating grin again. Looks just plain wrong, like his face wasn’t meant to do it.

“You are more than any other humans have ever been. I understand that in the past that relationship has been rather _untoward_ ,” Understatement of the century. “And we’d like to see that change. For the better, naturally.” Doubtful, but he keeps his mouth shut and Sam waits like he usually does because he’s great with respecting the Badge-or _Halo_ in this case.

“This is why we’d like to offer our assurances that our administration seeks to learn from the mistakes of the past; in order to build a more open, balanced present and future for both Heaven and Earth.” Dean wonders if the guy styles his hair with the grease that comes out of his mouth.

“That is an _outstanding_ shift in procedure, I gotta say.” He tries to make his grin look genuine but Dean’s pretty sure that he’s too sleep-deprived to make it convincing. They don’t even need angel ESP to see right through it.

“We’ve labored over it _extensively_. Naomi’s organization relied on fear, secrecy and blatant misinformation to function- _if_ you could call that functioning.” Zad straightens his deep red tie unnecessarily.  “And it shames me greatly that not _one single angel_ , myself included, took the proper initiative to challenge her tyranny.” his brows furrow and his eyes cloud over. “That a disaster had to occur before we took action.” There’s something about the way he says it that sounds personal to Dean.  The angel clears his throat and the somber moment along with it.

“That being said, we can’t begin to truly set our reforms into motion until we’ve established receptive and impartial communication within our citizenry.” He shifts his massive weight from one foot to the other and the hunter knows that play time’s over. Good. Heaven’s idea of foreplay always gets real old, real fast.

“Which is where _we come in_ , right?”  Zadkiel’s icy blue stare centers on Dean and he swears the temperature plummets a couple degrees. There isn’t even a flicker of the warmth there that always shines in Cas’ similarly shaded eyes.

“Precisely.” His tone is unchanged but those irises glint with cold light that no human eyes could ever accomplish. “In all the commotion, I seem to have lost track of Castiel,” done with the _‘we_ _’s_ _’_ too. “and it’s common knowledge that he prefers to spend his time with _you_.”

The Chief of the God Squad stares him down, as if it will break him. Shoulda done his homework. Dean waits for the silent demand to be spoken and is rewarded for his patience.

“Do you know of his location? Or that of the Angel Tablet?” Not realizing how still the air had become until the words are finally spoken, Dean shrugs.

“No clue. Last time I saw him and the tablet, Naomi was still calling the shots.” The angel’s face could be carved from granite, but that weird gleam behind his eyes flashes when he moves his gaze to Sam.

“I heard the injuries you sustained due to the Trials were extensive.” His brother meets the inhuman stare unflinchingly. Atta boy.

“Yeah.” He motions to himself in the wheelchair. “Still recovering and probably will be for a while.”

“Undoubtedly.” The angel proceeds. “But you were in far worse condition according to the prayers of Cindy Trujillo.” Cindy…Cindy…oh, the girl with the tight ass that Dean scared out of the break room.  Zadkiel starts reciting as if he’s reading from a church bulletin.

“ _‘_ ** _Padre_** ** _nuestro_** ** _que_** ** _estás_** ** _en_** ** _los_** ** _cielos_** ** _Santificado sea_** ** _tu_** ** _Nombre_** _, I know it_ _’s been a while, but it_ _’s just been a really rough week for me and for all of us here. There_ _’s this young guy in a coma and we_ _’re doing everything we can but I don_ _’t think it_ _’s enough. I feel so bad. His brother_ _’s here too-keeps yelling at everyone to just get out, among other things. But I mention him too because I get the feeling like they_ _’re all each other really has, you know?  You can tell from the guy_ _’s face that if his brother doesn_ _’t pull through, he_ _’ll just_ _…be lost. Somehow, I know they_ _’re really good people, so please help Sam and Dean Winchester through this time of difficulty. They really need your help, por favor, Padre. Amen._ _’_ ”

Dean feels like he’s gonna be sick. At least the littlest angel didn’t sell them out. Sam doesn’t react but if they make it out of this, the old argument about co-dependency is gonna stew in his head until he can’t hold it in anymore. And the drive back to Kansas is a _long one_. Fan-friggin’-tastic.

“That sounds pretty grave to me,” the douche continues. One mess at a time. “and yet, _less than an hour_ later Cindy was ecstatically praising Our Father- thanking him for Sam’s unprecedented recovery.” Inias and Ruth are transfixed on their boss, obviously convinced that he’s got them. “I’ve checked extensively and we have no record of our people being in the vicinity at the time.” By ‘ _our people_ ’ Dean assumes he means the registered _dick_ angels. “So I find myself wondering, who can we thank for this _small miracle_?”

“Maybe _God_ decided it wasn’t his time yet.” The blasphemous words tumble from Dean’s mouth before he has a chance to think them through.

Even the insects crawling in the walls tense as Zadkiel fixes him with a murderous glare. For a second, the hunter wonders if _this_ is it. If his big mouth has _permanently_ sealed his and Sam’s fates.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Sam speaks up. “We were just as shocked as you must have been.” Dean’s not sure if Heaven’s latest key player is even listening. He’s completely motionless in that way that only angels get, and he’s looking at Dean as if skinning him alive would be a decent start to their first date. “But my brother’s right. We’re totally out of the loop on this one.”

The staring contest drags on for several heartbeats before Zadkiel finally replies “Well, should you happen to _fall back in it_ and learn how this astounding revival occurred, we’d appreciate a Call.” Dean lets a _very_ slow breath out through his nose.  “If one of our own is the cause, their actions have to accounted for.” Breaking eye contact with him at last, the angel focuses on Sam. “Not that we aren’t gratified for your improved condition, understand. We just need to keep track of our populace to ensure that prior lapses of accountability aren’t duplicated.”

Dean spares a look at the other angels. Inias returns his gaze coolly while Ruth appears as if she’d like nothing more than to smite him on the spot. It’s a pretty long line at this point and she’d better bring something good to read.

“Oh, and _do_ exercise some restraint with whatever negotiations you’re planning to conduct with Mr. Crowley.” Zad glances at the trunk of the Impala as if he only just remembered who was in there. “It would be preferable if he were to remain, well,” he smirks very slightly. “I’m not certain that _alive_ is the correct adjective, but certainly animate.”

“You guys don’t want him?” Surprise bleeds into Dean’s tone. Zadkiel doesn’t look at him when he answers

“No. Not _yet_ anyway. We have larger priorities than the ‘ _King_ ’ of Hell to attend to at the moment.” The mockery in his inflection is evident and the statement sends a chill through the hunter’s chest. The hell does that mean?

“We’ll be in touch.” Inclining his head, Zadkiel abruptly departs with a flapping of wings. The stifling atmosphere in the garage and Inias leave with him but Ruth doesn’t move. Silently, she just stares at Dean with an expression of loathing so intense that he can feel the heat from it.

“Don’t be shy, honey.” He’s had his fill of angels for the week. “You got something to say to me, just come on out and say it.” Ruth crosses her arms while continuing to give him the stink eye.

“I served with Castiel since before the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah. He was always a little different, but overall he was a _fine_ soldier and a good friend.” Not this shit again. “I cheered for the aversion of the Apocalypse and I wept when I learned of his demise at the hands of _Lucifer_.” She hisses the name. “When we learned of his mysterious resurrection, many in Heaven were anxious-even fearful of Castiel. But I was jubilant at his return.” She smiles bitterly. “Pre-emptively it seems, because the angel who returned was not the one I mourned for.” He’s _really_ not in the mood for this shit again.

“Yeah, I get it-‘ _when he laid a hand on me he was lost_ ’-are we done here?”

“ _No!_ ” Shaking her head, the angel visibly seethes with anger. “It wasn’t in Hell-it wasn’t when he defied Zachariah or even when he tried to become God in order to protect the two of you!” Practically vibrating with fury, she shoots Sam a filthy look and Dean flexes his cramping grip on the handles.

“It was _after_ all that; _after_ he’d committed systematic genocide of his own kind and unleashed the leviathan onto this plane. It was when he was gifted a chance to redeem himself.” The old nausea resurges. “ _That_ was when he truly became lost. He had the choice of returning to Heaven, but he chose to return to _you_! To redeem himself to _your family_ , not his!”

The air around her crackles with tangible scorn. Dean’s so busy beating back the sickness that threatens to overwhelm him, that he can’t even form a half-decent comeback.

“He took your madness,” she spits at Sam, whose unjustly guilty face Dean can imagine plain as day. “and for what? An easy way out? Of cleaning up the mess _he_ left us in?” A disgusted bark of laughter rips itself free from inside her chest.  “Or was he honestly just trying to win back your approval for some deranged reason? I _still_ haven’t been able to figure out why!” He finally finds his voice again.

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe because unlike the rest of _you assholes_ , he actually has a conscience and wanted to fix something that he broke?” Dean practically yells back.

“Like Heaven?” Ruth snarls, nostrils flaring as she visibly forces unspoken words back down her throat. “It was an unfortunate incident,” Ruth grates out. “but certain sacrifices are _necessary_ in the line of duty. Casualties are unavoidable-even brutes like you can understand that.”

Dean’s leg almost bumps Sam forward when he tries to take a step and remembers the chair. “We’re his family too and you don’t throw _family_ under the bus in _any_ situation! No matter what the outcome is!” She regards him with appalled disbelief.

“Then why did he do that to _us_ , in favor of a squalling infant like you?” For the second time in twenty-four hours, it feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs.

Sam shifts in place and Dean absently peers down into his brother’s lap to see his long fingers twitching. The hunter knows the bitch isn’t done, and he wonders if he has enough stamina left to survive the verbal blow she’s about to deliver. No one speaks until the angel sighs heavily, deflating as she raises her eyes to Dean. The fury in their depths crumbles to grief.

“Why couldn’t you just let him go? Your lives are a _blink_ to us, and yet Castiel will suffer for millennia because of your selfishness-if he isn’t killed outright.”

“No one’s _forced_ Cas to do anything! He’s in control of his own choices.” The world becomes muted as Sam strikes back with his defense. Dean just lets his focus drift off to Ruth’s side as she shakes her head again.

“Angels are built to follow the Will of God. And when God abandoned us, we followed each other.” He can feel accusatory eyes boring into him and wearily raises his own to her melancholy expression. “Castiel was always quick to become besotted with weaker creatures; especially if he felt they needed him.” The angel gives Dean a visible once-over that spurs that nausea on. “I only wish I would have reached out to him when I had the chance. Before he became so misplaced that _a human_ was able to convince him that their cause was one worth following.” Dean funnels all of the darkness inside himself into the look he gives Ruth, who returns it with equal contempt.

“What, you mean the cause of free will? The right _not_ to have our lives and our fates controlled by assholes like Lucifer, Raphael and Naomi? The same exact people you _just_ saidyou were against?!” His brother places shaking hands on either side of the armrests and Dean doesn’t try to stop him from standing. “Make up your damn mind, whose side are you on?”

When she becomes blocked from his view by Sam’s towering stature, Dean takes the opportunity to rub small, comforting circles into his heavy eyelids. They don’t help in the least bit. There’s a silence in which he supposes the angel and Sam stare each other down.

“I’m on the side of the Greater Good. Can you say the same thing?” He yanks the chair out of the way and pushes Sam roughly aside just as the beating of wings fills the air.

“LIKE HELL, YOU CUNT!” He yells at the empty space that Ruth just vacated. “Get your self-righteous, gutless ass back here! I’m not through with you-you want to talk about the Greater Goddamn Good, you self-absorbed bitch?! Some family you fuckers are-throwing him to the wolves every _goddamn_ chance you get!”

“Dean…” Sam’s hand closes around his arm.

“WHAT?!”He attempts to turn Dean around, but the elder Winchester’s boots may as well be magnetized to the concrete.

“She’s gone, man.” Some of Dean’s fury begins to burn off along with his adrenaline.

“I can see that, genius!” The hunter snaps back as he spins, avoiding his brother’s gaze as he brushes past to the wheelchair that bounced off the trunk of an adjacent Sedan.

Dean kicks it back towards the Impala, where Sam stops it from colliding with the car. Tramping his way back over, Dean stoops to undo the locks, collapsing the contraption aggressively before wrenching the rear door open to cram it inside.

“When was the last time you slept?” The softness in Sam’s tone makes Dean wanna hurl as he slams the door shut. He doesn’t answer because he can’t remember. “Maybe I should drive.”

“With your gimpy legs? You’ll get us both killed.” He risks a glance at Sam’s face and instantly wishes he hadn’t. Too much concern and actual, honest to God _pity_ there. Dean makes for the driver’s side before Sam grabs his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Dean, if you want to talk about getting us killed-you seriously look like you’re gonna pass out.” Casting his strained eyes towards the trunk, Dean clenches his jaw. The bastard inside is probably having a good, silent laugh at them right now. “I can’t run but if I can stand, I can sure as hell operate the pedals.” He blinks and it feels like he’s holding up cinder blocks with his eyelids. “You need to sleep. Don’t make me knock you out, because I will.”

For a moment he’s so relieved just to hear Sammy voice what he himself had been thinking (before Angel Girl showed up to save the day) that Dean manages to crack half a grin.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve been sleeping for days-I’m good to go. And I’m not dying because of your stubborn ass.” He looks into Sam’s earnest eyes.

“What, you mean again?” A peel of somewhat hysterical laughter escapes from Dean as he lets himself be pushed in the direction of the passenger side. After a moment of hesitation, Sam chuckles dryly.

“No, I mean _actually_ dying because of your stubborn _and_ delusional ass.” The door is opened and Dean is nudged into the _wrong_ seat.  This one’s adjusted for Sam’s stilt-like legs.

The laughter dies out slowly as he waits for Sam to take the reins. Dean has to scooch the seat _waaay_ up just to feel like hes not falling backwards. Sam’ll never get it, because he’s the _younger_ brother. He’ll never understand that every bad thing that _ever_ happens to him is on Dean. That everytime Sam dies, its’ Dean failing Dad, failing Mom, and failing the whole entirety of his pathetic existence.

His brother slips in, readjusting the seat and mirrors. Tilting his head towards the back, he quirks an eyebrow and Dean knows that he’s referring to Crowley. “Does Kevin-“

“Nah, he’ll know when we get there. No point rocking the boat this far out at Sea.” Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Sam tilts his head in consideration. He shrugs before taking the keys offered to him and starting up the ignition.

“He’s gonna be pretty pissed.” Dean glances behind them and imagines the cut-away image of Crowley bound and gagged behind the dusky interior. Just having him in here feels like a sin against his beloved car.

“Don’t I know it.” He mutters, scrubbing a hand over stubbled cheeks.

They sit in silence as the engine warms up, and Dean tries to focus on _that_ sound, instead of the scathing echo of Ruth’s words that run on a loop through his head.  Almost as if on cue, Sam clears his throat quietly.

“You know that none of that shit is true, right?” He doesn’t answer straight away. “What Ruth said?”

“Yeah.” Dean mumbles lamely, staring out of focus into the reflection of the garage within the side mirror.

The only solace he can find at the moment is that at least they’ll leave this miserable place in the dust. Blessedly, Sam doesn’t press the issue. He just cranes around in the seat to reverse and intones

“Get some sleep, man. You look like shit.” Dean closes his eyes at last, crossing his arms protectively over his chest as he sidles back into the leather. His body feels heavy enough to be cut from stone.

“Still look better than you.” He smiles a little at the thought of Sam turning to glare at him before straightening the car out.

“Keep telling yourself that, jerk.” The smile widens into a genuine one.

“Bitch, it’s true and you know it.” Sam huffs and Dean feels Baby purr as they finally pull out of the aisle and inch down the ramps that lead back towards civilization.

He falls into a sleep where he’s haunted by the damning words of every angel who’s blamed him for Castiel’s fall. “ _I gave EVERYTHING for you, and this is what you give to me?!_ ” Every. Angel. About once an hour, Dean jerks awake as they pass rest stops, towns, cities and state lines. In the space between consciousness and sleep, he’s fortunate enough not to remember any of the cruel accusations. The exhausted man simply shifts his position and lets the sound of the miles traveled carry him back towards his restless dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fun Fact* Zadkiel is based off of Clancy Brown. In particular, his overall performance as [Brother Justin Crowe/Alexei Belyakov](http://i57.tinypic.com/jso7xs.jpg) from _Carnivàle_. Not the character, understand; mostly his [oration](http://youtu.be/ZYUziemo6A8?t=57s). While that clip in the last sentence lacks the fire of his S2 speeches, it gives you an accurate portrayal of what Zad sounds like. It's ridiculously difficult to find _any_ decent clips of this show on youtube  >:(
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by the marvelous [UnleashTheFic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/UnleashTheFic), who is incredibly speedy _and_ constructive with feedback :)
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to everyone who was involved with/in attendance for/wanted to be @ **Destiel Con '14**. Which means that it's also in dedication to our beautiful family in general. I can't put into words how much I love every single one of you. Our community is made up of the most supportive, brilliant, creative and truly wonderful people I have ever known. Without you guys, I wouldn't even have the strength to publish, let alone write.  
>  I'd rather have (all of) you-cursed or not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nemo helps Cas stave off cabin fever and refuses to take no for an answer. Krissy, Aiden & Josephine return to discuss the conspiracies surrounding disco and find trouble on the road.

The same enchantments that conceal the room from any angel outside also dampen the abilities of the ones within it. Cas rubs circles into his tender eyelids in hopes that it will alleviate the pressure building around his optic nerves. It doesn’t seem to be very effective. Maybe if he massages more vigorously…

…How much time’s passed since the boys left the garage?  In here, his time perception is _unreliable_. It moves like a human’s. There’s a rippling nausea in his stomach and a persistent dryness in his mouth and throat.

The research has to wait because reading proves absurdly difficult for him at present and Nemo’s hungry _again_. She’s particularly fond of sweet flavors, no matter the time of day. And yet, he’s never asked her opinion on pie. He starts to get lost in the blur of her chopsticks, leaning back into the hard edge of the bookshelf. It juts into his shoulder blade, which at least draws focus from his head momentarily.

“Are they still driving?” Cas grunts when he jabs a thumb in his eye. He lets the hand fall away, straightening up to squint at his sister.

Nemo’s unhelpful shrug offers no answers. “Probably. I doubt they can go much faster.” Nemo mumbles down into her dinner. “Unless their car can sprout wings of its’ own.” She glances up thoughtfully from the box of take-out in her lap. “Can it?”

“No, it has to remain earthbound to function properly.” His words catch at the end as the persistent tempo inside his skull picks up. Kneading over the pulsing vein at his temple muffles it a little, but is overall insufficient.

“The way you talk about that car you’d think it was a wonder of nature.” She hops off the cluttered desk, landing with a quiet huff of surprise. Nemo’s incredibly clumsy on her feet, which is no surprise considering her wingspan. “Something liiiiike…the Aurora Borealis, Mt. Fuji or Bigfoot.” Strolling over to him as she nibbles the last remnants of grain from the sticks, Nemo plants them in the food and extends it to him. “You should eat.”

A sheen of grease from the open flap smears across his jacket when the box is pushed into his chest. “I’m not hungry.” He studies the dramatic horizon silhouetted in the twilight through the slatted blinds behind her.

Every night, the sky bleeds into the Earth like this and all he can do is observe the phenomena through opaque, poorly-aged glass panes. Not alone, but not with the Winchesters either. Is Sam still driving? Dean craned at an awkward angle next to him? Apparently, the hunter had been neglecting his slumber while Sam was hospitalized, but the last Nemo had checked, she’d said that Dean was _finally_ sleeping again.

His image of the brothers in their natural element brings warmth back to into his aching grace. The Impala _is_ a wonder of nature. A man-made vehicle that lacks an organic soul, yet embodies an artificial one. A kind of anima nurtured through the will of the family it’s supported throughout the decades of their lives. He’s never witnessed a marvel quite like it and doubts he will again.

“That _car_ foiled Lucifer.” A grin blooms across his face. It’s even more ludicrous than the fact that the family he chose over Heaven have existences so fleeting that their lives are measured in _decades_.

“Oh, I _knooow_ -that one killed me!” Excitement glitters in Nemo’s eyes as she affects a very serious expression and lowers her voice. “ _The devil doesn’t know, or care what kind of car the boys drive_.” The immediate, huge smile breaks the dramatic effect but the truth remains: _We_ won.  

“I bet he knows now!” Her mirth halters when she tries to punch the air and stops just short of showering them both in rice. Glaring at the box, she presses it up into his ribs. “But seriously, your stomach’s anguished cries are really distracting—“ she motions behind her at the _gallon_ of sweetened green tea on the desk. “And the caffeine should help with the headache. Unless it’s from dehydration-then it’ll make it worse.” Tapping a short rhythm out on the side of her jaw, she exclaims “Let’s find out!”

“That isn’t exactly reassuring.” And yet, the tea is closer than the faucet, which feels like an unnecessary length to walk if there’s an alternative. His lips barely part before the food is thrust up into his face.

“ _EAT,_ Cas! This is stupid- _I_ can step outside to recharge, but you just don’t get that break.” As if he will have forgotten.

“I’m still not sure it’s necessary.” But it does _smell_ good.

“Trust me, it is. Maybe one day angels will be able to wear androids instead, but until then– _eat_!”

“…Androids?” He repeats incredulously.

“So stow your issues with biological processes, and take the _stupid_ rice.” It’s difficult to _stow_ the worsening disorientation as his grace is slowly being leeched into the walls, but he _is_ trying.

“ _Accept. It._ ” She demands through clenched teeth, shaking the container. Tilting around the small expanse of rice, Cas frowns down at her abnormally expressive features.

Not for the first time, he wants to ask just how long she’s lived on Earth. Then the aroma catches hold of him again and the question dies at the back of his throat-trivial compared to _that_ _smell_.  Saliva floods his mouth, making a sandbar of his tongue as his traitorous innards growl loudly. Defeat sizzles in his belly as he quietly accepts the food.

“Thank you.” She nods and returns to her familiar perch. To Metatron it was a sacred space of creation.

As it is now, they’ve been steadily ruining the formerly handsome desk. Tied grocery bags overflowing with trash are stacked haphazardly against the side. Scuffs, scrapes, child-size shoe prints and remnants of old food cloud over more of the surface every day. There’s also the corner that Castiel has taken to defacing with his blade when the claustrophobia starts to squeeze too tightly.

If the Impala can have a spirit…

Then defiling the desk’s helps a little with the burning betrayal. Still though, this could have turned out much worse.  The vacuum in Heaven has more or less been filled and the winners of that race should prove to be sufficient improvements over Naomi’s regime. Additionally, it sounded as if their first interaction with the Winchesters had gone well. The fact that Zadkiel left Crowley in their possession set off several red flags, but what is he expected to do about any of that from here? Churning the rice absently with his chopsticks, Cas remembers Dean offering the same dish to him several years ago.

“ _Cummon, they’ve really spruced it up in the past coupla’ thousand years.”_

Oddly enough, he remembers the persuasive lift of Dean’s brow, the nudge in his tone. He remembers the sleeves of his moss-colored thermal rolled up to the elbows. But had he accepted? Castiel honestly doesn’t remember that part.Joining Nemo on the desk, he dejectedly scoops the ancient staple into his mouth. It’s delicious.

If he does moan, it isn’t voluntarily. Physical hunger burns ferocious and _real_ in his stomach. Indulging in it, he watches Nemo do the same as she withdraws another box from the latest plastic yellow bag. She opens it to reveal an entrée of chicken glazed in sweet orange sauce. Her appetite is almost nauseating if he lingers on it.

There are so many limitations and requirements for survival in the human form. From here, Cas can only catch a glimpse of the dusk before nightfall. Thinking about the home he wants and the humans he wants to help _hurts_. So he tries to stop.

“Save some for me.”  He realizes that he’s still eating and stops. She slides the chicken across the soiled hard wood surface in one fluid movement. “ _Brain food_.” Nemo taps the side of her head twice as he leans in to examine the latest option.

Sam prefers leaner meats like this to the beef and pork that Dean insists are superior. Plucking up a piece of chicken, he deposits it in the rice and coats it until sufficient.

Dean had once brandished the combination at him while sternly lecturing “ _See Cas, sometimes flavors just_ go _really well together and if you’re eating ‘em plain and separate, that is nothing short of criminal.”_

That had been _before_ Lucifer’s crypt. Before a single command from an unimpressive adversary had nearly compelled him to pulverize Dean into the dust underfoot.

Either Dean’s stopped praying or Castiel can’t hear him. For all the good it does, he’s been disconnected from Heaven’s Radio since they fled from Naomi’s office. The silence is so unnerving when he’s alone that it feels like a tangible entity. It undulates in the corners where the vibrations of the Earth begin to dim. Sometimes he won’t notice how needed Nemo’s presence is until Cas is carving deep grooves into the desk. The long splintered segments fall to the ground like the molting leaves outside and in the stillness, an endless loop echoes “ _You shouldn’t have run.”_

“And don’t eat so fast.” He slows his mastication gradually, unaware of doing it incorrectly. She corrects Cas on human behavior, as Dean would.

It never fails to astound Castiel how much more evolved humanity is than his own kind. The sheer accumulation of definitions and combinations with varying subtleties that compose the cores of their brief existences can be at times, overwhelming. So much of it is lost on him that he’d make a hopeless one for certain.

Swallowing, Cas inclines his head to Nemo and quietly repeats “Thank you.”  He spears more chicken, slightly surprised by just how well the tastes and textures _do_ complement each other.

“’S fine-that’s why I got _boxes_. As in plural.”

Cas shakes his head and lowers the food to his lap. “I meant for everything you’ve done for them,” he works down a dry mouthful of food that fights him every step of the way. “And for me.” Cas nearly chokes, quickly taking a generous swig of Tea. She stares at him expressionlessly while he considers her with a slant of the head. “I don’t sense any kind of harmful deception from you. Of course that could be naiveté fueled by desperation, but given the circumstances—“

“I’m your guys’ last pony.” Nemo stretches her arms and wings proudly, purpose billowing effortlessly between dimensions to flare from her every molecule.

The air of youthful confidence her vessel projects makes for a sight nothing less than inspiring. For a moment, Castiel is jealous. The last time he’d felt that sure of his purpose he’d called himself God and taken life indiscriminately; be it angel, man, woman. No infanticide like they had been tasked with in Egypt long ago, but he’d killed children as young as sixteen.

“It would seem that way.” Anticipating the twitch in her arm, he extends the jug. “But you have to admit that it’s a very strange reason to risk your life.” One he still isn’t entirely sure he believes, but it’s the only answer he’s received or is likely to. The first time Nemo had told him _why_ she was helping the three of them, he’d been positive she was ‘pulling his leg’.

Accepting the drink, Nemo shrugs and unscrews the cap. “As good a reason as any.” It truly is astounding how quickly his sister can drain a container intended for consumption by multiple people. “At least this time my name will finally be in something worth reading.”

There are several key events in human history that she claims to have played a role in without earning due credit. This, he can’t be positive of either. Lowering the amber liquid from her mouth, she screws the top back on and places it off to the side. Frowning at the stack of their accumulated and frankly _pathetic_ results, Nemo speaks towards the books.

“By the way, I’ve got an idea,” she grimaces at the volume on top. “buuuut you’re not gonna like it.” The moleskin binding contains the collected journals from a cloister of brothers who had excelled at intoxication during their spare time at Saint-Sulpice in the 19th century.  

He sighs dejectedly “Probably not.” But the rather inarticulate records of Jean-Baptiste Süskind’s opium-induced visions of Heaven have shed very little light on his dilemma thus far. And still, it contains more logic than the flashy paperback it rests atop entitled _Liberating Yourself from False Angels: How to Forgive Your Past and Fight for Your Future_. So Cas waves her on to continue.

“It involves _involving_ Kevin Tran.”

More than once he’s wondered if he shouldn’t just turn himself in. Sam will recover from the aggravated damage of the Trials with Nemo’s assistance. It might be madness to trust her, but apparently Castiel has more faith than he thought.

“You’re right, I don’t like it.”

She scoffs at him “You’ve got a network and we need an answer _soon_.” The pressure behind his eyes hikes on cue.  Not as intensely as before, but still unnatural and inconveniencing.

Cas sighs, bowing his head. “Our last interaction wasn’t pleasant and he’s become a pivotal member of their extended family. I don’t want to involve him,” Maybe Dean isn’t praying because he’s trying to send another kind of message. If he wants Castiel to stay away…

“I don’t want to burden—“

“ **Stop!** ” Nemo raises a finger threateningly. “I swear, I have to _make_ you people want my help,” she huffs, shaking her head. “I’m used to all kinds of stubborn receptions, but the three of you are something else.” Pulling her legs up, she hugs her knees in close to her chest. 

“It’s—“

“It’s like this-you want to leave this room, our best bet is someone who will actually be able to find the Angel tablet in this mess. Oh _and_ being able to read it might help too.” A particularly nasty throb has Cas bite his lip hard enough to feel it split open.

“Even _if_ the tablet is here, then what?” The moon hovers fat and yellow above the mountain tops. The sight of it makes his wings stir restlessly.

“Remind me again how this cowardice helps anyone?” The disgust shapes his features with such ease that he could have been born into them. “Nemo, you know Zadkiel. Do you really expect him to just,” Cas gestures at nothing in particular and recognizes it as a human expression of frustration and defeat. “ _Give up_? Say that Kevin _does_ find a way to hide me from Heaven. How long can the spell possibly last?”

“Long enough.” She states it with authority that makes him pause. But her confidence won’t be enough to hold off the formidable General. His justice is fair and absolute; there’s no grey with him. It’s why he’s always been so well-respected amongst traditionalists in particular.

Cas catches her gaze, frowning while he shakes his head. “For what? Next time I doubt they’ll be so gentle in their inquiry. Dean and Sam got off lucky once, but those two have a habit of running through their fortune rather quickly.”

Nemo holds her arms out to both sides and glares at him disbelievingly. “You don’t need to tell me, remember? Look, just let me go find them once they get Home, ok? Pretty sure I can convince him to come back voluntarily and if not…” she shrugs innocently.

“Under no circumsta–“ Nemo makes a crude imitation of a quacking duck with her hand and continues loudly over him.

“Give me some credit-I’ve read the books. Hands off anything seven degrees removed from aWinchester if you don’t want Castiel’s shiny blade up your butt.” He doesn’t have an answer for that, so he simply nods and glances at the window. The first flickering pinpricks of starlight have begun to emerge from within the sea of bruised blue-purple sky.

He doesn’t want to die.

Castiel wants to watch these same stars climb their way across the sky until even their ghosts have burnt out. For all the knowledge that he _should_ die, Cas wants to live. He would miss these stars and the light they shine upon an Earth teeming with so much living, breathing beauty.

“Kevin’s already in this whether he likes it or not, Cas. He was chosen, _by God_. You know that.” He does.

“I’m not his concern.” She reaches forward and smacks him across the face. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make his jaw click unexpectedly.

“Don’t be an assbutt.” His focus snaps back to the determined set of her brow and the glint of golden fire in her eyes. “Unless you can think of a better solution, huh?” Crossing her arms, Nemo holds her chin up back and fixes him a hard look.

If Castiel’s vessel were that of a canine, his tail would be drooping pitifully between his legs by this point. Luckily, his body is that of a man and he has a degree of control over that sort of primal instinct. This room probably holds more written knowledge than any one continent on the entire planet. And so far they’ve set aside thirty-four books with nothing more than speculative and shoddy accounts of many things, but _none_ directly concerning the concealment of an angel from his brethren.

“We need to act faster.” Nemo intones quietly. “This room won’t protect you forever and the rest of the world isn’t waiting for us.”

Crowley’s most likely still in the Impala’s trunk, and Zadkiel decides to _leave him_ there. Abaddon is most certainly alive and her first target will be the pair who have twice desecrated a body she seems to be incredibly fond of. And those problems are only the most prominent ones.

The headache is increasing when Nemo repeats “ _Cas_ ,-“

“Yeah.” He sighs, turning from her. “I can’t think of anything else.” Doubt and anxiety chase his heart to a stuttering pace. But Dean, Sam _and_ Kevin might need him. “When the Boys return, go speak to them and Kevin.”

Nemo nods, deflating a little in her posture. “Your boyfriend better have my Soda when I get there.” She misses the withering glare he gives her, opting instead to stand on her shoelace and purposefully pull her foot away, unraveling the knot. “I get thirsty.” She stoops to retie it and sighs, glancing up at her wings. “These old things just ain’t what they used to be.” Nemo sighs with the voice of a child.

“I’m sure they’ll compensate you for the beverage,” Cas says carefully, trying not to offend her by letting his confusion over her priorities show. “but if Kevin doesn’t agree, don’t bring him.” The last thing he needs is something like _that_ clouding the air between them all. It may even be the final slight in Dean’s eyes.

“I swear,” she groans. “but I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem. Even if Kevin does say no, I get the feeling like I’m not going to be the one convincing him.”

>>> 

_I saw my problems and I’ll see the light. We got a lovin’ thing, we gotta feed it right._

Josephine glances up from the sink to catch the scowl of utter contempt that Krissy’s regarding the ceiling speakers with.

_There ain’t no danger we can go too far. We start believin’ now that we can be who we are-Grease is the word._

“Is it a federal law that they play this song nationwide every fifteen minutes?” Crossing her arms, the brunette draws herself up in a huff. Josephine smirks at her reflection.

“They’ve played it twice since we got here.” It doesn’t escape her attention that the other girl seems a little less wigged out in here than when they’re with Aiden. Which is weird and worrisome, but they don’t have time to get into it now.

“Yeah, since we got _here_ but Jos, they play this song everywhere we go. On every station, in every town. We hear it at least five times a week-are you kidding me?” Shuffling off to the side, she looks down at her hands and starts to pace slowly. “Aiden I get, he’s a space cadet. _You’re_ the one with all those crazy ninja senses.”

The hunter smiles sympathetically at the plea. Their occupation isn’t exactly one that can be shrugged off by the front door at the end of the day. Hell, some days the only doors they collapse behind are the ones in the sedan.

“Haven’t really been paying attention,” she shakes the last of the soapy water from her hands before crossing to the towel dispenser. Naturally, it’s broken. “Guess I got lost in the _groove_.” She turns to wink at Krissy as she bends to dry her hands on (only _slightly_ dusty) jeans.

“Don’t even.” Most people would piss themselves at the scorching look the ferocious little pixie is attempting to combust her with.

“Haven’t you heard?” When Josephine straightens, she points at the ceiling and cocks her head.

_Grease is the word._

Mouthing along to the words, she bobs her chin, pointing to Krissy and tapping her foot to the beat. “You know you love it!”

“ _Uggggh!!_ ” The head of their little rag-tag family (ironically the youngest) pushes out the door, pursued by the chorus of her sister’s (let’s be real here) new favorite song.

Aiden looks up from the booth to _Prissy’s_ priceless face (she’s sure) with Josephine trailing behind, barely concealing her mirth with the back of her hand.

“Wha’d I miss?” Silently, his girlfriend squeezes in on the opposite side, plastering herself to the floor-to-ceiling window almost immediately.

Fog fans out from the point where Krissy’s forehead meets the glass. Her eyes resume scanning the night beyond the parking lot restlessly. Josephine had hoped they’d managed to convince her that nothing was (immediately) out there. She exchanges a meaningful glance with Aiden; neither is eager to ask outright what’s wrong after last time. The girl doesn’t hide under a shell when she’s on edge; she lashes out like a cornered wolverine on crack.

Josephine scoots in, watching her closely. “Your girlfriend’s convinced there’s a disco-related conspiracy following us around the country.”

“Well yeah.” Both girls turn to regard him in bewilderment.

“Come again?” The older of the two bends forward to pop open Aiden’s leftovers.

“Hey…” frowning down at the thievery, he swats her away from his rapidly cooling fries once before giving in, allowing her to take a dozen. “My cousin told me,” he frowns down at the cluster she swirls around in a puddle of ketchup. “All the stations keep a regular rotation of disco going to keep old people from freaking out.”

“ _Huh?_ ” Showing off a mouthful of partially mashed food, Josephine practically beams her disbelief at him.

Krissy releases a shaky huff of laughter. “You’re totally serious, aren’t you?” She turns away from the window, leaning in to sip water noisily through a straw from a cup of melting ice. Aiden flashes a quick, hopeful grin at Josephine.

“The guy had all these random conspiracy theories.” he counts off each one on his fingers. “Uhhh…growth hormone/mind control in the milk, the US invaded Iraq to get Saddam’s stargate,”

 _Stargate_. Josephine mouthes to the other girl.

“U.F.O. sightings are really falling angels and alien abductions are done by faeries.” He nods and meets the mocking familial stares evenly. “You know, stuff like that.”

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty.” Reclining, Krissy sighs affectionately as she returns to the window.

Scoffing, Josephine stuffs another small torch of fries into her mouth. “He’s only so pretty cuz his brain doesn’t have anywhere else to spend all its’ energy.” She easily dodges the crumpled ball of used napkins that Aiden tosses at her face. The brunette grins at the commotion behind her without turning from the glass.

“I never said _I_ believed any of them!” Josephine flings her arms into the air.

You heard him,” nudging Krissy with her shoulder, she burrows into her side. Her best friend stiffens almost imperceptibly before cautiously sidling into the contact. “He _just_ said–“

“I said the disco thing was right. I mean, that’s basic psychology. Nostalgia is one of the most influential tools at a government’s disposal. Society’s moving too fast for the older generations, so businesses and institutions keep their music selection basic to soothe their nerves. When we’re at that point, you’ll hear Deadmau5, Nikki Minaj, Panic at the Disco and Adele in _every_ store. If they still have _physical stores_ and it isn’t all digital–“

“Aiden,” Josephine holds her palms up. “One more word and I’m giving this steak knife a new home in a place you really don’t want it.”

“That’s just…” scoffing, he scratches his nose and considers the possibility. “That’s uncalled for. It’s not like subliminal messages are a new thing, Jos. Krissy, back me up here.”

When she doesn’t reply, Aiden repeats her name. “Hmm?”

The still lot outside is disturbed only by a homeless guy scavenging from the bins on the far side. From the way their friend’s studying him, she looks as if she expects him to morph into a giant insect at any second.

Before her boyfriend can start up again, their waitress pops up out of _nowhere_. Josephine knows that she doesn’t imagine it, because the other two start just as suddenly when she appears at the side of their table.

“How is everything? Can I get anybody a refill, or maybe tempt you with some desert?” She sounds kind of worn out to be honest, and there’s a gravelly drag to the bass of her voice. The sound doesn’t help the tightening of Josephine’s chest or the acceleration of her pulse. She’s been fighting the urge to ogle the redhead all night and is failing _miserably_.

Did the waitress tell them her name earlier? Must have… _Fuck_ –redheads and Asians! It’s really hard to keep from melting around them and this babe may as well be on fire. Her flaming locks fall in soft, molten waves down her back and shoulders. The blazing Ruby lipstick draws attention to the full curve of her mouth and her claw-like nails are splashed crimson.

The uniform is vintage-like something straight out of 1955. In sharp contrast, it’s something of a reverse strawberry pattern with a robin’s egg blue base and a stippling of tiny off-white dots. The color brings out a stripe of glinting teal into the sea green of her irises. The fabric pinches in slightly under the pressure of the apron ties cinched snug in all the right places. To be honest, everything about her screams **THIS IS A TRAP** , but what harm is there in admiring from afar?

She must have missed her companions’ replies, because the waitress is nodding and then suddenly her gaze is pinned to the girl and her brain is liquefying.

“N-no.” She mumbles quietly, shaking her head. Her cheeks are burning. Can they see? Is it obvious? It’s really hot-is her jacket on? She can’t remember but if she tries to check, it’ll look like bowing in defeat.

The hunter chances a peek at the waitress’s nametag only to be foiled by the mane of red obscuring it. For lack of a better name, she dubs her **Red** -which isreally cliché, but it feels like she’s drowning in the color.

 _Red_ turns her attention to Krissy, who’s gone back to scouring the night for any potential threat.

The older woman (maybe late 30’s, early 40’s?) crosses her arms and shifts her bearing with a cant of her obscenely full hips. “You’ll forgive me for saying this dear, but you really don’t look so hot.” Maternal vibes fill her voice, which Krissy probably isn’t going to respond very well to.

Sparing Red a glance, Josephine’s best friend draws herself up straight and goes back to her vigil.  “Long week.” she tells the window, icicles clinging to every syllable.

The woman actually ‘ _tsks_ ’, which draws Krissy’s attention away from the darkness. “It’s awfully late for a school night to be out. What could possibly have you all in this part of town at this time of night?”

They all look like they’ve been in a scuffle and have wired, hollowed gazes. Their baby-faced leader’s bruises and cuts stand out the most; vivid damages against her Lily-soft pale skin. There’s also her antsy, at times unresponsive behavior…all together they are _suspicious as fuck_ and they’ll stand out in the minds of the patrons here. They’re never this sloppy, but Krissy’s never this high-strung. Always this stubborn, though.

“We’re taking a year off,” Aiden interjects with the usual bullshit, fanning his hands out in a sweeping motion. “Do the whole _See America_ thing.”

“That so?” Tilting her head, the woman’s gaze rolls slowly up and over him. “What would you say...” Petty disappointment squirms in Josephine’s gut that she swiftly and violently stomps out. Who cares if she talks to him-she’s _off_. Probably a serial killer who pulls the black widow act with people from this diner. Or some creepy shit like that-it always is.

“…has been your favorite sight so far?” Krissy’s spine stiffens, her chest stilling entirely as she freezes in place. Forget spacey, Aiden is proving downright _suicidal_ right now.

“Uhhhh…” her boyfriend’s focus drifts up towards the ceiling. “Yellowstone was pretty cool. Huge place. Ever been?” It takes a lot of restraint not to kick him under the table as he grins warmly up at the waitress like a moron.

She sighs fondly “Not for a long, _long_ time.”

Aiden nods slowly. “Well you should definitely go back sometime. Kind of place where all the bullshit gets left at the door–uh–gate, I guess.” It’s pretty surprising that he can’t _feel_ the caustic glare burning through his skin from across the table. “It’s just you-the Earth, the Sky and the freakish, dinosaur-sized moose they’ve got out there.”

“Hah!” Red’s lids flutter shut as a short burst of laughter escapes over the hand she claps to her mouth. The light and airy sound compels Josephine’s stomach to start up a routine of consecutive somersaults. When she stomps on Aiden’s foot, it’s harder than she intends.

“ _Ow_!” He hisses as she mouthes ‘ _idiot_ ’.

“I’ll be back with your check.” The hunter half-expects her own eyes to burst as she drowns in her own saliva and watches the beaming redhead make her exit.

The table lurches and Aiden yelps “The Hell, Kris?” She almost forgets that the others are still here. “That was my shin!”

His girlfriend hisses “Wanna drop her your digits while you’re at it?”

He crawls awkwardly up onto the cushion. “What, you think I was flirting?” His foot slips and she tries to kick his leg before he hastily draws it up.

Huffing, she grates out “No shit, Sherlock. You think you weren’t?!”

“He may be a dumbass, but he’s not _stupid_.” Her best friend glances sideways, raising an eyebrow. Josephine nods and some of the fire in Krissy’s eyes dims.

“I swear, upon pain of perpetual disembowelment–“The girls turn as one to see Aiden clasping his hands, as if in prayer. “–I have zero interest in flirting with anyone other than you.” Still fuming, the smallest hunter shakes her head and goes back to the window.

Aiden frowns while eyeing Krissy with dulled concern. He scrubs a hand over his face, sighing in frustration before forcing a smile that’s as much for his benefit as it is for their’s.

“’Sides, I’m not _that_ big of a dick.” His grin is spread pretty thin but it still spells danger. “I wouldn’t do that to Jos.”

She stands, drawing Krissy’s attention. “You heading to the parking lot?” Josephine nods. “I’m coming.”

As they brush past, Aiden whispers to Josephine “Want me to drop her _your_ digits?”

She squints at him ominously and pulls a punch to his arm. “Don’t take too long.”

“So you two are just gonna leave me here like a chump?” The pout he directs at Krissy misses its’ mark entirely. She ruffles his hair in passing.

“That is the general idea.”

On the way towards the exit, their waitress blocks the path as she steps away from the register. Krissy chokes on half a curse and pushes past Josephine before Red can open her mouth. She reaches out and grasps the girl’s shoulder, who drains of color and goes completely rigid.

“Lady, I don’t mean to be a bitch, but if you don’t stop touching me…” The waitress smiles, lifting both palms in a universal gesture of peace.

“Sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you left.” She hooks a curl and drags it off her shoulder enough for Josephine to finally read her nametag; _Abby_. _“_ Rite of Passage withstanding,” she continues “You’re overdoing it.”

“Getting over a cold.” Krissy mumbles towards the doors. Abby’s gaze travels to Josephine and settles there. God, what if she’s a pyro-telekinetic? Seriously, this woman _might_ just be able to ignite her without batting an eye.

“There are all sorts of nasty things out there,” is she sizing them up? She’s sizing them up. “Absolutely _itching_ to get ahold of a couple of girls like you.” What the hell?

“That some kind of threat?” Krissy pipes up, striding right past Josephine and puffing herself up to push the woman back.

For a moment, Abby simply watches them like a cat eyeing a pair of canaries. “It’s a warning.” She finally breathes. “I’d of appreciated one at your age. It would have saved me a _lot_ of grief.” With that, she departs in a miasma of lavender perfume so concentrated, that it burns to inhale.

Without another word, the smaller girl pushes Josephine out into the chill night. Outside, Krissy stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets and sends a rock on the ground flying with a sharp kick to ping off the news stands.

“What a creepy bitch. Can’t believe you can find _that_ attractive.” Raising a slow and steady hand, Josephine feels confident that her point gets across and lowers it with just as much practiced control.

Then she bites the bullet and finally lets the words that have been dancing on her tongue for too long spill out between them.

“He’s worried about you. I am too.”

“Not doing this.” The brunette starts towards the car.

“ _Krissy_.” She groans and hurries after. “Hey,” catching up with a skid on an icy patch, Josephine goes to grab her shoulder and pulls back in lieu of what just happened inside. “Man, you’ve gotta talk about what’s eating you.”

“No,” she takes a step back, posture like a wild thing on the brink of flight. “I really don’t. So drop it.”

The chimes ring out across the frigid air as they look up to see Aiden exiting with a bag of tomorrow’s breakfast.

“When you’re ready…” She trails off.

“Spare me the chick flick crap.” Krissy says quietly as the third member of their group catches up. “I’ll be fine. _Really._ ”

As they all pile into the Subaru, Aiden halts Krissy with a peck on the cheek that she returns easily. Josephine rolls her eyes at them, smiling affectionately on her way to the backseat. From inside the cab, she catches them kissing in the rearview mirror.

“ _Brrrr_.” It’s freezing cold in here.

Leaning forward, she taps the horn and almost instantly regrets it. Krissy reels back from Aiden with an expression of panicked alarm so out of character, it damn near breaks her heart in half to see it.

They split, with Aiden sidling behind the wheel and Krissy taking shotgun. As he buckles in, the driver shoots her an icy glare.

‘ _Sorry’_. She mouthes.

He doesn’t wait for the engine to warm up, ignoring her indignant cries from the backseat. They get onto the freeway with little traffic and drive. They pass through several miles of forested suburbs. Small gas stations in the middle of nowhere. They pass sheep. Are those cows? It’s hard to make out with the moon cloaked in so much cloud. More sheep. Followed by skeletal factories abandoned long before any of them were born. Then forest again.

Eventually they round the corner on an enormous suspension bridge that looks as if it _dangles_ over the expanse of the river canyon in the distorted moonlight. Her fatigue is broached by a sudden anxiety that isn’t helped by Krissy’s voice breaking a silence they’ve all grown too accustomed to.

“Isn’t there another way around?”

“Nah.” Aiden mutters as they pass over the corrugated metal seams.

They get about a third of the way across when Krissy speaks again. “Turn back.”

“I can’t turn back, Kris-it’s a bridge.”

“Then _reverse_.” She urges, volume and pitch rising in urgency.

“What's up?” Josephine leans forward with an assuring touch to Krissy’s arm. It has no effect.

“ _Reverse_ if you have you have to, Aiden, just get us off this goddamn bridge!” She jolts towards the steering wheel and Josephine has to haul her back.

“Damn, girl! Okay!!” They come to a sudden halt. “Shit…Okay.” He stares at her wide-eyed, shifting gears and readjusting to swing wide. Luckily, there’s plenty of room to make the maneuver and no actual road divider to keep them from heading back the way they came.

“What is it, hun?” Squeezing her friend’s arm, Josephine glances at Aiden’s spooked, dashboard-lit features fixated on the road. 

“I don’t…” suddenly, she smacks the side of her head with her fist. Josephine snatches her wrist. “I don’t know.” She sobs. “There’s something…I don’t know what _it_ is.”

“Babe, it’s alright. We’re going back, see? If anything’s out there, we’ll outgun it.” Aiden croons softly, glancing over as Krissy begins to hyperventilate. “Hey, hey. Ssssssh...”

“It’s going to be fine, Krissy, we’re getting off the bridge.” Chiming in, Josephine releases her wrist and goes to rub her shoulder.

“We’re going too slow.” Sheer panic lines every syllable as it tumbles in a heap from her trembling lips.

“He’s going at 85. We’ll be back on the other side soon.” Josephine’s never been good at comforting people. Not like Mom; she always knew exactly what to say and do to calm anyone down.

“You’re going _too slow_! It’s gonna catch us!!” Shrill, Krissy damn near splits their eardrums before Aiden yelps in shock. There’s a ripple, a jerking sensation somewhere so deep at the center of her gravity that even being aware of it feels like it goes against her operating manual. Josephine feels time begin to slow, scraping over her like stinging tree branches.

The expanse of the road before them is no longer empty. A figure, bright and near blinding emerges out of the darkness just beyond the flare of their headlights. The alien light bleeds a rich, deep scarlet as the car begins to slow, despite how hard Aiden's stomping on the pedal. The stench of burning rubber fills her nose; they're just lucky that no one got ejected.

Then her head is splitting open with a pressure unlike anything any human is meant to experience and she’s screaming.

Screaming her throat bloody as the windshield cracks and disintegrates into a shower of razor-cut stars. And out of the red light steps that fucking waitress. Her eyes are as obsidian as her smile is ivory. Flaming hair billows in the wind behind her as if caught in a spiraling updraft. The world appears unchanged, and yet the air in Josephine's lungs feels blistering.

An arm extended regally before her, the woman grins wider still, and it’s then that Josephine realizes with horror that she’s become deaf to everything but the increasing volume of a voice inside her head like crackling static over a radio broadcast.

It’s the woman’s true voice. The one that constricts her blood vessels and manipulates her brainwaves into unnatural patterns. The one that etches itself into the marrow of her bones and pushes on the underside of her skull hard enough to crack it to splinters. It’s a voice so old that it perpetually corrodes the throat of the human body it’s stolen.

It’s in an ancient tongue whose formation predates human civilization. The words spoken are in a language Josephine will never be able to repeat, but they’ll ring sharp and clear through her memory for the remainder of her days. They’re forced through her synapses and directly into her consciousness, where they sizzle into a deafening crescendo.

                                                                                                               “ ** _I tOLd yoU_**

**_cOuLD oNly HOlD_ **

**_bACk_ **

**_sO lONg_ **

**_yOoOoou’re MINE I’m inSIDE yoU foR nOwFOREVER_**.”

They’re so heavy in her head that she forgets how to breathe and gives all of her weight for the seatbelt to support as consciousness mercifully abandons her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fun Facts*  
> –Just in case anyone missed it, the song in the diner is _Grease is the Word_ by Frankie Valli from (a’doy) Grease.  
>  –The whole disco conspiracy thing is a strong nod toward [A Room of One’s One](%E2%80%9D) by [NorthernSparrow](%E2%80%9D). It comes highly recommended.  
> –There actually is a conspiracy that the US' decision to occupy Iraq was a cover so we could steal Saddam Hussein's Stargate. Did you know that? I sure didn't :0  
>   
> As I type this, it is January 24th, so **Happy Birthday, Dean <3** Nice how that timing worked out, eh?
> 
> The Cas POV was beta’d by [UnleashTheFic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/UnleashTheFic).
> 
> And I’m officially putting a tag up there indicating long WIP. The gap between updates is so ridiculous that I’m ashamed, but my schedule is packed. In-between school and work, time is a precious commodity T^T but I've invested too much of myself in this story to ever abandon it; It’s 95% written in my head by this point.
> 
> In closing, Much love to all of you who have the patience to keep up with this fic and the dreadful lag between chapters. The good news is that I'm cutting some things out of my schedule this year to make more time for it. See y'all in the next chapter <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean bring closure to a traumatized Gas-N-Sip employee and manage to thoroughly piss Kevin off before Nemo lands on their doorstep. Josephine and the Junior Hunter's Club learn that in the Spn universe, you never trust your waitress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **If you read Chapter Four before 05/23/15, you do not need to read this one as I've gone back and split the original content in half to deposit in a new chapter.**  
>  Sorry for the confusion! I promise an actual update is on the Horizon-I just need to have the next chapter beta'd :D

When they get to Lebanon, Dean is still snoring quietly from the passenger side. This isn’t his post-job sleep or his post-bender coma. It’s his  _Fuck-It-All_ knock-out. Obviously Sam’s concerned, but the waves of nausea keep his thoughts from lingering on his brother for too long. Back at the hospital, Dean had told him that the mystery angel would return to keep healing Sam periodically. The damage is  _that_ bad apparently, and on the ride back to Kansas he’s all too aware of it.

For the umpteenth time, he has to convince himself that the dryness in his mouth is only natural thirst, and not the precursor towards emptying his stomach of the few contents he has managed to keep down. Namely, a small bag of plain Ritz and two-thirds a bottle of water.

About a mile from the Bunker, his vision begins to blur as sweat suddenly blossoms from  _every_  single pore in his skin. All the saliva in Sam’s mouth evaporates for good and his guts start to feel like a waking nest of vipers. His brother’s still sleeping thankfully, because the look of  _sick_ on his face isn’t something else Dean needs to worry about right now.

Up the road from “Home”, the now familiar convenience store rolls into view and Sam utters a noise of relief that fortunately doesn’t stir the other. Instinct tells him to  _run for it_ the second he pulls into the parking lot, but something even more ingrained makes him park  _very_ carefully. Dean doesn’t wake when Sam closes the door firmly without slamming.

It really shouldn’t be this bright  _inside_ before noon and someone’s jacked the volume on the entrance chime  _way up_. Some Billy Joel song bleats at him in the background, and even half-blind Sam can tell that he’s the only customer.

The kid who’s usually here weekday mornings looks up from his phone, recognition turning quickly to concern. “Hey, Sam, are you—“

“Bathroom, Chris,” he murmurs pathetically. “Please.”

“Yeah, man.” Fumbling on the other side of the counter, Chris’ voice drops and he nods to himself in confirmation when he finds the key. “Go right ahead.” He passes Sam the splintery length of wood that it dangles from. Sam takes it and receives a sharp bite in the palm from a tiny sliver.

Within the stretch of eternity he spends trembling pitifully while hugging the porcelain bowl, Sam gradually notices that somewhere in-between the parking lot and the bathroom, his jacket’s vanished. He must’ve tossed it in the back as he got out. Ugh, even the word  _toss_  floating across his conscious is enough to start the dry-heaving again. Nothing comes up, not even bile or water.  His insides just roil for a lifetime before the upset ebbs slowly to vague discomfort.

Taking a few moments to wash the truly astonishing amount of cold, slick sweat from his face, neck and forearms, Sam studies himself in the mirror. His grey t-shirt is drenched but he’s too spent to care. Undeniably ill yet still firmly rooted in the Land of the Living. Then again, half the dead things they track and kill professionally cling onto that world too. But that’s still a good thing, right; that he’s alive? He lifts a hand from the sink basin to ruffle his hair dry and has to stop when his vision blinks out entirely and his head starts to spin.

“shiiiiiiiiiiii…….ttt…” as he slumps forward, Sam lifts a shaking arm to cushion his clammy forehead before it can crash into the mirror.

Eyes closed, he labors for breath and waits for the ground to stop tilting beneath his feet. Lamely, he thinks of Alice being hurled through the looking-glass.  If Sam were to fall through a portal leading to another reality, he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t be anywhere near as pleasant as Wonderland; acid trip that it is aside.

Some time passes before he can push himself off the clouded surface-he doesn’t know how long. The glass bends under his weight as Sam tries to blink his vision back into focus.  Hallucinations are probably to be expected after failing the Trials, but what if this is just his own personal brand of crazy? Some of the feeling returns to his tingling extremities. The mirror’s just a thin sheet of plexiglass a few steps up from a fun-house mirror.

“ _Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream_.” He exahles as a fragment from sophomore year begins to play back across the decades.

He’d been so flustered as John had held up the battered library copy of  _Alice in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass_. Before Dad had opened his mouth, Sam had started muttering something about it belonging to a girl in his English class. He’d focused on a point to the side of his father’s head, refusing to look at his shoes like he’d done so much as a kid.

Dad had been staring down at the book, eyes dull and distant. He’d smiled, slow and faltering like a flickering illusion, and Sam had huffed a silent prayer of thanks.  _“It’s a good book.”_  He’d muttered-then louder _“She pretty?”_  John had flipped the paperback over, caressing the folds and ridges of the well-worn cover in a bizarrely tender motion.

 _“Yeah, but she’s also really smart. She’s in a couple of Honors classes.”_  They so rarely shared personal details and suddenly he was gushing to _. “She’s studying classic lit and childhood development at the community college too. Wants to teach middle school kids. ”_

His father had nodded dazedly, as if it took some effort for Sam’s words to get through to him at all. He’d still been smiling when he’d pressed the book into Sam’s grasp.  _“She sounds nice._ ”

His tone had been that  _too flat_ one that’s too thin to conceal the disturbance stirring beneath the surface. Dean had picked up the defense mechanisms of a shattered man, and sometimes Sam caught himself doing it too. The loss of Mary had been the final blow against a heart that had been cracking for many years before he’d met her.

Every so often, certain things would trigger that weird reaction in Dad. A songbird landing on the antenna of the Impala. A scouter advertising CHEAP CHEAP CHEAP tickets to a sporting event. The smells that wafted from carts of vendors selling homemade Mexican snacks. This was mostly how Sam had learned who his mother once was; by watching his father’s reactions to these events.

A jewelry display in a store window had driven him to silent, angry tears once; both boys reaching up to catch his hands and whisper childish reassurances of their love. He’d knelt down in the middle of the bustling sidewalk to pull his children in close, whispering

“ _Please…Oh God, give me the strength I need to keep them safe._ ”

Or the time a few years later when a cook book specializing in French baking had been resting inconspicuously in a discount pile at some Nebraskan mall.  John had left the store without a single word, leaving Sam and Dean to spend hours asking around for him. Dean had used his fake ID to get into a bar they’d been directed to. Sam had watched two shivering girls at the club next door cloud the air with their cigarette smoke and huff jokes he couldn’t hear back and forth. Their distant laughter had been blocked out as Dean had returned with their father in tow, who looked guilty and wrecked in the pale glow of buzzing red neon.

“ _M’sorry, boys,”_ his gaze had sought each of them and been unable to hold on. “ _Looks like your Old Man’s a failure after all_.” The clouds of his bitter laughter hung heavily over them all. And Dean had softly replied

“ _No, Dad. You’re just human_.” John had looked at his eldest son with terrified wonder, clasping him briefly on the shoulder before repeating the gesture with Sam.

“ _Think you can drive?”_ The look of amazement on Dean’s face at being bestowed such an honor when Dad had flashed the keys on that freezingnight so long ago is one that Sam’s never forgotten.

A wrapping on the bathroom door drags him from recollection as Dean calls loudly “Hey Sammy, you fall in?”

“Don’t be an ass!” His voice echoes weirdly in the cramped and sealed space.

Sam straightens up, blinking the patches of blurred, fuzzy film in his vison away.  Layers of tissue over the retinas detaching and dissolving in the fluid of your tears? Despite every torture he’s endured, that thought still manages to make him feel downright squeamish. Inhaling deep, Sam almost wishes he hadn’t. It smells really bad in here.

He finds Dean browsing the beer, the latest issue of  _Busty Asian Beauties_  tucked securely under his arm.            

“How’re you holding up?” The concern in his face is being carefully moderated, like he doesn’t want Sam to think he actually cares. It’s downright  _stupid_  that they’re in their thirties and Dean still thinks he can hide anything from him.

Sam nods. “Not 100% but I’ll live.” Dean turns back to the fridges and continues to scan the limited selection.

“Yeah well,” he reaches in to extract a bottle with a red label featuring a Chieftain in a tall feathered headdress. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”  Sam doesn’t think they’ve bought the brand before. “Huh.” Dean murmurs to himself, turning it over to examine the alcoholic content percentage. He tilts his head sideways in contemplation while tapping the neck with his thumbnail. Shrugging, Dean takes the pack.

A rasping itch at the back of his throat has Sam struggling not to hack up a lung. “What about you?” Side-stepping him, Dean follows the aisle down and stops to grab a liter of Pepsi.

“ _What_ about me?”

He tries not to sound winded and has no idea whether it works or not. “Dude, you have been  _out_ -like the entire way back.” Dean glances at him and shrugs before turning his attention back to the basket.

“...rounded up that’s,” his lips move with no sound issuing before Dean snaps his fingers. “sixty-eight.” He blinks sleepily up at him, looking for all the world like a seven-year-old. “I’ll be better after coffee.  Where is  _coffee_ , Sam? ” They stop at the tall silver canisters full of the stuff, which is scorching hot. The coffee here tastes good, provided you wait for it to cool and it’s only $1.15. “Highway robbery,” Dean mumbles while pouring a cup. “Watch, soon it’ll be one-ninety- _nine_  and kids will think that’s dirt cheap.”

Sam smirks as he snaps the lid onto his cup. “Inflation’s a bitch, huh?” Dean huffs in agreement and signals for him to follow to the front.

“You want anything else?” He shifts the six-pack aside, giving Sam a better view of the basket’s contents. “Cummon; a Danish, a cereal bar?” Dean gestures to the rack of revolving hotdogs. “Miscellaneous breakfast meat? Anything at all?”

Being able to keep anything down sounds like wishful thinking. “Nah, I’m good.”

Dean starts to say something, but cuts himself off before turning and abruptly striding towards the front. He’s really being a dick about the whole  _picture of health_ thing.

“You sure?” He calls without turning.

“Positive.”

When they get to the front Sam hands the key back with an uttered gratitude as Dean sets the basket down on the counter, pulling out his wallet to leaf through for the appropriate change. Glancing up when he withdraws the bills, Dean frowns at the empty glass display where the pie usually is.

“Hey man, you seriously all out of pie?” Chris surveys the purchase quickly and appraises his brother anxiously.

“Please,” he holds up both arms, palms facing flat out to Dean. “I-I’m not in charge of the shipments. There’s some drama between the owner and the usual supplier or something like that.” Chris swallows and Dean half-turns to shoot Sam a mystified look. “All local deliveries have been suspended-I-I don’t know for how long, but right now all the store has is name brand stuff.”

Turning his full attention to the young cashier, Dean waves him on. “It’s  _ok_. I’m bummed but I’m not gonna start wailin’ on you over it.” He sounds just as lost as Sam feels. “What made you think I was?”

Deflating a little as he exhales, Chris smoothes a hand through his hair before he starts to ring them up. “Sorry-can’t be too careful. Some dude did last week, and he bought the same stuff you did.”

 “You don’t say…”Dean fidgets on the spot and Sam’s got a pretty grim idea that he knows where this is going.

Chris looks up from the back cover of  _Busty Asian Beauties_ after scanning it. “Like, the  _exact_ same stuff.”

Sam speaks up from behind Dean, who stiffens at the question “Chris, did this  _dude_  happen to be in a tan trench coat?” the guy pales. “Squints a lot and talks like Batman?” He unconsciously warps the magazine. If Dean notices, he doesn’t react because he’s hanging so strongly onto every thread of the conversation now.

“Uh, yeah, actually.” Laughing dryly, Chris’ gaze traveling between the brothers wearily. “He a friend of your’s or something?”

Dean does that thing where he shifts his whole body to the right and starts emphasizing his words with definitive hand gestures. “He’s been going through some rough times. Family kicked him out, there’s this big, mess of drama between them and the pricks are being downright murderous about it.”  

Chris makes an ‘o’ with is mouth and crosses his arms, bobbing his head along slowly. “That sucks,  _really_ , it does.” he shrugs. “but um…if he’s gonna come back, could ya tell him _to leave my throat alone_ this time?” Bowing his head, Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m just saying-It’s not  _my fault_  we’re out. I like pie just as much as the next guy, but dude nearly strangled me to death.  _Just saying._ ”

Sam swallows with some difficulty, grabbing a bottle of water to add to the pile. “Yeah, um, sorry bout that, but what happened, exactly?” Chris tells them and Sam apologizes on Cas’ behalf too. The kid watches them leave wearily.

Outside, Dean immediately launches into a counter-evasive maneuver. “You know for someone so dead-set on  _not_ getting comfortable, you sure do know a lot of people around here on a first-name basis.” He becomes intensely fascinated with the rim of his cup’s lid, tracing it and studying in earnest to map out the contours as if the information is vital to their continued survival.

“It doesn’t hurt to talk to other people, Dean. In fact  _most people_ would agree that spontaneous socialization is a healthy way to live.”

Dean’s already brushing past him on his way to the driver’s side. “Probably,” he slides in and immediately begins readjusting the seat and mirrors. “but most people are idiots.”

Sam climbs in and moves the passenger seat back to its’ customary position. “Don’t change the subject.”

“ _What_  subject?” Dean indicates the back seat, arching his brow on emphasis.

“I’m mean that you  _might_  want be more thoughtful of C—“Sam stops at the violent slicing motion that Dean cuts through the air repeatedly. It doesn’t really matter if Crowley overhears this, but the fear in his brother’s eyes keeps him from continuing.

“Later you can gloat all you want, but right now we’ve got a lot of  _excess baggage_  to unload.” He’s right-now isn’t the time or place for this conversation. “So can it wait?” Mercifully, Sam raises his palms in surrender. Dean mouthes ‘thank you’ without looking him in the eye as he starts up the ignition.

Sooner or later, this feud Dean has against Cas is going to backfire worse than it already has.

Peeking over the seats, Sam is relieved to find his jacket lying discarded on the floor. It’s a good jacket, and he hates leaving behind decent clothing on accident. It’s happened more times than he’d care to admit over the years.

As they pull into the Bunker, Sam debates sending Kevin a pre-emptive apology, but waits too long and looses his shot when Dean finally flashes Motorhead’s  _Ace of Spades_  along with a bitter grimace.

“You sure you don’t have any of that girly synth-pop lying around? Any Indigo Girls, Celine Dion?” Dean frowns down at his beloved cassette that still crackles out its’ faithful line-up of  _Dad Rock_. “Any Cher? Lemmy’s  _waaay_  too good for the King of  _Pricks_.”

“Sorry, Dean,” he throws over his shoulder as he climbs out of the cab. “Unless you want to strap  _my phone_  to him, looks like your selection is all we’ve got. But uh…” Sam turns and tries not to smile at the childish disappointment on his older brother’s face. “Driver picks music, right?”

Slamming the door as he gets out, Dean shoots Sam a scowel that would mean instant death for anyone else. Fighting the impulse to gloat over his victory like a teenager, Sam sobers himself on the way to the trunk.  This part isn’t a victory; it’s correcting a failure.  _His_ failure.

Slants of pale grey light flicker through rain-soaked branches while chilled morning fog envelops the woods in a fragile silence. When they expose Crowley to the bleached light of day once more, his only reaction is to blink in disdain and greet them with a small tilt of his chin. Dean takes one good look at Sam and nods for him to go in front.  They can’t hide Sam’s condition from demonic senses, so why bother?

“Rise and shine, Young Highlander.” Sam beams and Dean snorts, elbowing Crowley in the back.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” The demon groans and rolls his eyes.

Sam extracts the second set of restraints they picked up on the way back. He’d insisted on them and had spent most of the day inscribing the metal with sigils for imprisonment and weakening. The dimensions had to be reworked as well, so that they’d ride above the ones Crowley was already wearing.

Holding them out for Crowley to see, he smiles. “Today is just not your day, is it?” Sam steps wide of him and passes the cuffs to Dean, who snaps them firmly into place.

“No it is not.” He answers for the King of Hell and pats him hard on the back twice. Crowley grunts and shrugs Dean off.

The failure to shut the Gates-that’s on him. But they’ve been lucky enough to walk away with the mother of all consolation prizes; it’s an opportunity he’s going to ensure does  _not_  go to waste.

Sam gets the music together and Crowley makes a combination motion/noise that are unmistakable as anything other than “ _seriously?!”_  Handing his brother the player, Sam secures a set of clunky headphones over Crowley’s head with duct-tape. Dean mutters something about it “ain’t bein’ right” as he rigs the ancient tape player to his back. Sam gets three black plastic trash bags over the demon’s head and Dean cinches them tight, tying each off with mechanical efficiency.

Crowley’s already overheard plenty at the garage, but that doesn’t mean that he has to know what’s going on at their home base. Like the fact that it is literally their  _home_  base. Should that piece of information leak out, they’re well-prepped for flight, but even Sam isn’t too keen on that outcome.

The noise blares out when the tape starts up. Crowley groans loudly and grinds the earphones against his shoulder in a vain attempt to nudge them off. Unfortunately for him, they’ve been expertly fastened.

Sam can’t help but grin. “Looks like he considers it torture just like the rest of us.”

If looks could flay someone alive.. “Sam, I swear to…” Dean’s focus drifts skyward before dropping back to Sam. “ _Cas_ , or something, that if you rip on my music—“

“ **FUCK NO!** ” Both of them swivel towards a frantic-looking Kevin, who rushes up the stairs two at a time, tripping on the last one to bowl into Sam.

“Awesome.” He sighs, securing a firm hold around Kevin to keep him from dashing at Crowley.

“That had better not be who I think it is!!” he yells hoarsely, attempting to squirm free. “Not here! What is he doing  _here_?!”

“Just get him inside!” Sam shouts over the grunting protests of the struggling prophet.

“Don’t—no!” Holding him back takes a surprising amount of effort. “Don’t you  _dare_!”

Dean pushes Crowley in front of him, spurring him forward while carefully avoiding the ball of fury Sam’s struggling to hold back. “Sorry, Kev!” He yells back over Kevin’s very audible distress.

“ _DEAN!!!_  YOU SON OF A BITCH, DON’T YOU FUC-king  _dare_!!” His voice breaks and he slackens a little against Sam’s chest.

For several heartbeats, neither speaks. The only sounds are those of the prophet’s laboring breath and the squawking of birds resuming the conversations they were having before the disruption.

Sam tries to keep very still as he mentally crosses out faulty condolences. No words he can offer will bring Linda back, return Kevin to the life he’d worked so diligently for, or release Crowley from their charge. Gotta say something. Cummon man, even a lame apology is better than nothing.

“Kevin—“  he tries, but the sound of his name sends Kevin lurching out of his arms. He spins to face Sam and it’s the first good look at the kid he’s had in over a week. Honestly, he’s not sure which of the two standing there appears worse off.

“Why,” Panting, Kevin glares daggers at him. “in the very literal  _Hell_ did you bring that  _piece of shit_ here?”He’s always been a pretty slim kid, but now the collar of his clearly unwashed long-sleeve hangs loosely off one shoulder. The shadows under his glazed eyes are darker, the lines more pronounced. He looks worn well beyond his years.

Opening his arms out to either side, Sam tries to keep his tone soft yet unyielding. “What else were we supposed to do with him, Kevin?” Just leave him there?” Kevin shakes his head, nostrils flaring as his chest heaves. “Send him home?”

The livid prophet flashes a glint of canine in his sardonic bark of laughter. “Huh, let’s think about that one.” He crosses his arms and scratches roughly at his chin, leaving flushed trails where his nails scrape over. “You’ve got the King of Hell at your mercy, now what do you  _do_  with him?” Brows furrowed, he worries his chapped bottom lip until it begins to bleed before shrugging exaggeratedly. “Oh, I don’t know, Sam.” Kevin surges forward, jabbing a finger into his ribcage. “HOW ‘BOUT YOU KILL THE EVIL FUCK?! Isn’t that what you guys do best??”

Ignoring the internal twinge he’s practically intimate with, Sam swallows back an outburst. The pressure is building in his temples, the last of his saliva is drying up  _again_ , his  _apparently_  inexhaustible supply of sweat is breaking, and he  _really_ has to piss. Oh. My.  _God_  does he have to piss all of a sudden. So he breathes deep, tells his body to  _deal with it_ , and manages to fish up some of the non-speech he’d rehearsed on the road.

“Look, I know it’s a crappy situation—“

“A  _crappy_  situation? You bring that…” Kevin gestures at the entrance that Dean didn’t bother to close behind him. At a loss for the appropriate insult, he swallows and starts over. “No, this isn’t  _a crappy situation_ , Sam, it’s not even a spit in the face-I can’t…” his eyes start to glisten and Kevin snaps his head down towards the cold cement beneath his bare feet. “I honestly can’t find the words to express what  _this_  is.”

“I know, trust me, I don’t want him here anymore than you do.”

“Then explain why he’s inside.” Folding his arms tightly into his chest, Kevin scoffs and begins to trace a seemingly random pattern against the landing with his big toe.

Biting back a retort, Sam takes another deep breath, thankful that Kevin’s attention is diverted from his crumbling self-discipline. “Dude,” a particularly vicious throb sends pain forking out through his entire skull. “you seriously think that me-or Dean-want  _him_  shacking up in the basement? We screwed up, alright?  _I_ screwed up,” He takes yet  _another_  deep breath, because his lungs are deflating too fast and all this talking isn’t helping. “and I’m sorry. I really,  _really_  am,” Kevin’s staring at him with an unreadable expression. “But that’s why we can’t let him go-or  _kill him_.”

“So your plan is to…” another throb that cuts the volume of his voice in half. “What? Ransom or interrogate him?” Frowning, Kevin cocks his head. “I’m pretty sure he gets off on torture.”

“Somethi—“ Sam’s words falter in the desert of his mouth as a fit of coughing ambushes him. He pushes through it impatiently, pounding on his breast in an effort to speed it along. Kevin uncrosses his arms, frown intensifying. Eventually, Sam clears his throat enough to rasp

“Something like that.” Hacking up mucus, he hawks it off to the side. “ _Eugh_. Usual rules don’t apply to Crowley. We’re going to have to think outside the box on this one.” Kevin shakes his head and dodges eye contact.

“This is  _fucking stupid_. You seriously think you guys can keep Crowley—“

“You weren’t there in that church.” His head is seriously starting to feel like the inside of Lars Ulrich’s drumkit. “You didn’t  _see_  it, man. He was...” Vulnerable. Cracking. Disintegrating in his grip like ashes. And if he could have just  _finished_ it. “Practically human.”

“Oh,” Kevin’s eyes and mouth go wide. “Oh, I’m sorry-I didn’t realize you were going to  _neuter_ him first! Yeah, cuz when you’re finished snipping and sewing, you can go get him a leash,” he honest-to-God giggles, hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Yeah, and a matching set of dog tags. I’m not taking him out though,” he shakes his head again. “Nah, you’re the one with a thing for pets, so you can take him when you go jogging.”

He loves the kid like a little brother, but he doesn’t have time for this. “We can argue this all damn day, that does—“ the hacking returns so violently that it shakes his entire frame.

It  _hurts_ , as if his being is trying to purge itself of something it can’t. Something it wasn’t allowed to, all because Dean can’t be alone. Even if it meant that Sam’s soul would finally be free of this…taint. He’d been so close; so  _goddamn close_  to redemption. Now that light is gone and all that’s left is him-alone, in a body being torn apart by his own failure.

“Hey-you’re not like, gonna  _die_  out here on the steps, right?” Buried deep under his suffering, Sam picks up a note of genuine concern in Kevin’s voice that catches him off-guard. He waves, coughing up what may be actual pieces of lung. It wouldn’t be all that shocking.

Kevin bites his lip, the red hot anger fading from his tone and posture. “Yeeee-ah,” he turns and pushes the Bunker door in. “No, I’m gonna—“ Dust gets in their eyes when the wind picks up, dying down as quickly as it came.

“No need! Sorry! I’m here!” Sam’s aware of a tiny hand pressing into the small of his back, and then suddenly, everything’s fine. Simultaneous waves of warming and cooling comfort fan out from the touch, spreading throughout his entire body.

The angel from the hospital grunts, leans against Sam while she catches her breath. Before he can thank her, Kevin yelps and clamps a hand over his heart. “The hell is that?!” She groans and pushes herself off of Sam.

“Really…” she gasps. “freakin’ thirsty.”

“Kevin, this is…uh…”

She holds up a hand, glancing between the two of them. “I’m only doing the intro  _one more time_ ,” she straightens up, breathing more evenly, yet still obviously phased from the healing. “so get Dean first.” He’d said that she’d never given a name. The angel catches his eye and waves down the steps. “You still need to go pee,” does he blush? He might. “so go do that while Kevin fishes Dean out of the basement.”

That has them both spluttering while Kevin stares dumbfounded at the angel. “I, uh,” he stops and grins acidly.  “I’m sorry how did you know-oh—“ he smacks the heel of his palm into his forehead. “Nevermind. Stupid question, I should be used to this kind of thing by now.“

“It is and you should.” the angel shoots him a disappointed look. “Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” Kevin’s jaw clamps down hard, his brows slanting into rigid channels of irritation. He opens his mouth but Sam cuts him off.

“She’s right-about the bathroom thing, not…”Kevin gazes at Sam with renewed ire. “Look, she saved my life, alright?” The “girl” beams proudly, planting her hands on her hips, with her legs spread wide in a heroic pose. “Just…please, go get Dean and we’ll all meet in the Library in five, ok?”

Kevin eyes Sam and his savior wearily, muttering something that sounds like  _fucking Winchesters_ before turning and descending back inside.

“He swears a lot more than where I’m at.” The angel frowns at the space Kevin just vacated.

“Where you’re at?” He gets waved off.

“Go go go,” she claps. “So we can get this thing going already!!” The weirdo actually tries to push him down the stairs before he gets her to back off and let him take them one at a time.

>>> 

When she comes to, the first thing Josephine notices is how  _wet_  her back is. Moaning, she curls up into her side and buries her face into the crook of her elbow. Mom’s ice water showers are the  _worst_  thing to wake up to. The alarm never went off and she  _needs_  at least two hours to wake up–it’s not her fault. According to Grandma, Dad was the same way.

“nnngh…” Mom’s pounding on the wall, calling her name. It’s all muffled, but it scrapes up the inside of her head all wrong. “ _Nnnngh!!_ ” No light shining through her eyelids, so it must still be dark out. Maybe she can stay home today if she says that she  _really_ feels like shit.

“…sephine.” It’s getting louder; harder to block out. She moans again, tries to fling her pillow but something’s stopping her arms from being able to move independently of each other.

“juz let me…” Josephine chokes on the rawness in her throat and coughs. Tasting something horribly familiar seeping up from the back of her throat, she rolls onto her belly and spits.

She opens her eyes to see blood dribbling from her lips. The room is bright enough that she can watch as the liquid splashes across the dust-clotted baseboards.

“Oh dear, that doesn’t look too good, does it?” The voice freezes her in place, every function knocked offline by the dread filling up her lungs.

Footfalls advance slow and deliberate, stirring dust motes in their owner's wake. The women’s biker boots step into her field of vision and the only thought going through her head is

 _Please don't let this be the last thing I ever see_.

That… _thing_  kneels down in front of her and reaches beneath Josephine’s chin to lift her head gently up.

She's snake-like in this position; arms bound, torso pressed into the hard floor. Her neck aches from the disagreeable angle as the bitch meets her eyes. They’re green for now. The creature- _Abaddon_ -frowns.

“You shouldn’t have any internal bleeding…” She presses down on either side of the girl’s lower jaw. “Open wide, cummon. Like this,” she opens her mouth and sticks her tongue out. “ _Ahhhh_ -just like that; see? Good girl.”

Reluctantly, Josephine does as she’s told and is rewarded by a pain inside her mouth that catches her off-guard. Abaddon smiles at the noise she makes; her vision doesn't seem to be hindered by the dim light in the slightest. Eventually, she pats the girl's jawline in signal to close. “You bit off the inside of your cheek. Just a small patch, though.” Her tone is bright as she finally lets go of Josephine’s face.

It takes effort to keep her forehead from dropping to the ground. This is a thousand times worse than any hangover. Similarly though, the memories from the night before are starting to trickle back in blurry fragments.

 _Abby_  kneels beside her this time, grabbing and lifting her easily into a sitting position. She whimpers pathetically, cringing from the pain in her back alone. Her muscles are knotted, tailbone feels bruised. And then there’s the mouthful of flesh missing from her upper shoulder. The one that Krissy took when the woman had read it off the back of a  _Dare_  card.

“Oh, hush now. It isn't so bad.” she tilts Josephine’s head back again, this time putting a glass of water to her lips.

What choice does she have? The drying blood in her mouth and throat are starting to become unbearable. It takes everything she has not to cry out as the water washes through the hollow of exposed flesh inside her mouth. The gap  _feels_  huge as bloody water flushes through it and gets washed down her throat.

“The pain your family experienced when that  _half-breed_  vampire tore them apart?” Once swallowed, she spits out saliva tinged with red, raising her gaze steadily to the demon’s. “Now  _that_  must’ve hurt.” Abaddon's grin is wide, eyes dreamy and unfocused- _lost_  in that moment of blood-curdling discovery that she stole from Josephine.

“ _Where are they_?” Rasping, she levels a glare of pure malice at the thing in front of her. Shaking with exertion and rage, she grudgingly accepts another mouthful of searing water.

“Your friends? Waiting for you to wake up, of course.” She reaches out to ruffle the girl’s hair, who reels back against the bare wall. Those claws rake over her scalp, threatening to break the skin. “Cummon.” Taking hold of her captive, Abaddon hauls the hunter to her feet and keeps her from crumbling when the girl’s legs wobble. She leads her out of the room and down a narrow hall way. “So quiet. Most people have a preference, but I'm an equal-opportunity lover.”

“Of what?” she manages, panting as she’s forced to lean on the demon for support. Every cell in her body is screaming in repulsion and her empty stomach churns from the proximity.

“The ones who plead for their lives, their friends and family. The ones who try to makes deals and the ones who curse at you right up until the light leaves their eyes.” Reaching the staircase, the demon goes first, drawing Josephine along. “Then there are the ones like you who barely say a word. You keep it  _aaaaaall_  inside and I just," she actually giggles with glee. "I just  _love_  knowing that I’m the only one who can pry it all out of you.” She shoots a leer over her shoulder as they descend the creaking steps.

Josephine remains silent, opting on watching her own progress and trying to put as much distance as she can between them while having to rely on her captor. They make it to the ground floor of a long-absent suburban home. Immediately, the hunter catches a passing glimpse of two other demons chatting to each other in the kitchen, but it's in that weird, Infernal language that she doesn't understand.

“Before we do this,” they stop halfway through the emptied dining room, Abaddon turning and lowering her voice to something just barely audible over the hammering of Josephine’s heart. “I want you to know that I really enjoyed our time together.”

Steeling her voice, Josephine asks “Before we do  _what_?”

Pouting, the bitch smacks the side of her injured cheek, sending pain throbbing out from it. “You’re ice cold, you know that?” She pushes Josephine in front of her, resting a single hand delicately on the girl's hip, which she shakes off instinctively. “Or maybe you’re just cranky to go home.” Sighing, she nudges her into to the living room.

“Jos…”Aiden raises his head with some difficulty, squinting at her through the black eye she gave him last night. She didn't mean to; none of them  _wanted_  this.

Arms wrapped around her knees, Krissy looks up from the corner. She catches Josephine's eye before hurriedly ducking her chin in and withdrawing further into herself.

“Let’s all go into the kitchen,” Abaddon steps past Josephine, trailing a light, chilling touch over her lower back as she gestures for the others to stand. “so we can call Papa Winchester to come pick you up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can’t believe there hasn't been a _Highlander_ reference on the show in regards to Crowley yet. It’s so perfect; have I missed it?
> 
> The Sam POV was beta'd by [UnleashTheFic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/UnleashTheFic).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nemo finally gets her soda and the boys learn that their fanbase will go to bat for them when times are tough. Kevin's grumpy about being housemates with Crowley, but gets a little distracted when he finds out that he's semi-famous. Krissy and the Gang help Abaddon rediscover her love for directing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **!!!Fair Warning!!!** : This chapter features torture and violence involving underage individuals! If you have a problem with that, PLEASE disengage your present course and turn around NOW!!

Less than five minutes into Dean’s friendly chat with Crowley, Kevin comes shooting down the stairs and starts calling out for him. There had been _a_ _chance_ that the demon hadn’t heard his voice outside with the _Motӧrhead_ tape playing at full volume. See, neither Dean nor Crowley had brought Kevin up. Now there’s no question as to the prophet’s whereabouts.

Shit, kid. You just had to blow that one for us right off the bat, huh?

Crowley grins scarlet, spitting blood at the hunter’s feet. “Why don’t you come play with us, Kev?” He drawls, never taking his eyes off Dean. “Not that you’d know, but believe me when I say that your boy Dean just can’t quite _dole it out_ like he used to!” Dean socks the prick in the ear.

The brief burn in his knuckles as he cracks them feels _so good_ as he watches Crowley try to get his bearings. It was a damn good punch.

“Be right there!” Dean shouts before grabbing hold of Crowley’s tie, yanking it downward as he follows through with the motion.

Overcalculating, his knees slam into the concrete harder than intended–and yeah that hurts, but the retching sound torn from Crowley is friggin’ priceless.

“You say one more word to him and I’ll take your tongue out.” Cocking his head to the side, he debates if he’d drain the blood from that treacherous mouth or just let “the King” drown choking on it.

“Oh dear,” Crowley’s sigh comes out more like a huff. “That _is_ a problem. However will I spill my guts to you?” The truly phenomenal reek of sulfur coming off this asshole is making Dean’s eyes water.

“Think you just answered your own question,” he winks and dodges when Crowley aims a bloody ‘wad at his face. “Myself, I’m not above some good ol’ fashioned haruspicy.”

“Lookit that,” the demon leers. “Squirrel knows a four-syllable word other than _‘in-ad-e-quate’_.”

Dean gives the tie a hard tug and leans in close. “Point is that you can squeal just fine without using _any_ _words_.” His tone drops to a low promise of acts even Hell’s most infamous masochist might cringe at. “We clear?”

Crowley knows full well that it was _Alastair_ who taught Dean Winchester how to take his sweet time peeling metaphorical fruit.

“Cr–ry _stal_ , darling.” Good to know that he has some difficulty gagging out words from this angle. Dean snaps back to standing and can only hope that the creak in his joints is too muffled for Crowley to hear in his debilitated state. “You’re just going to leave me stewing in my own juices then, eh?” Crowley chuckles as Dean makes his exit.

“That’s the plan.”

Kevin’s leaning against one of the shelves immediately outside the cell, seething and looking _really_ goddamn ill as Dean secures the not-so-secret entrance to dungeon. He turns and jerks his chin to indicate the stairs behind Kevin before the kid can start giving away state secrets. Once at the top, the prophet swiftly crosses to the opposite wall while Dean latches the door.

“Well now Crowley knows you’re here too.” Speaking to the solid surface, Dean pushes absently to test its’ yield. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah, cuz I’m sure that somewhere along the way, he didn’t pick that up already.” Before he can consciously think about it, Dean’s praying to Cas for patience. He cuts himself off (someone’s probably listening), turning to face Kevin.

“So wha’d you need anyway?” His heart grinds to a sudden halt. “Is it Sam?” Dean’s universe compresses into the microsecond that Kevin’s dulled gaze suspends them in.

“Sam’s fine,” he breathes again as Kevin casts his head down to his chapped cuticles. “Some angel kid landed on the doorstep, healed him up, and told me to come get you.” He starts picking at the dry skin, stripping it away and flicking it off to the side.

Dean‘s tempted to physically make him stop. “Indian girl, yea high” he drops his hand down to a guesstimate. “Red Sox hoodie, bright cherry Converse and annoying as all hell?”

“ _Thaaaaat’s_ the one.” Nodding towards the floor, Kevin continues to peel away at himself.

Taking in the state of him, Dean realizes that this is only the eye of the storm. Kevin must’ve used up all of his energy yelling at Sam, but that spring will refill pretty fast. Seriously, how well would Dean be able to sleep if he knew that Azazel was in one piece under the same roof? The thought physically makes him nauseous.

“Kevin, abo–”

“Save it.” He steps around Dean. “They’re in the Library.” Then he’s fast walking, leaving Dean to stride after him. They make their way through the Bunker in tense silence. None of the apologies he can think of are good enough, anyway.

Most of the time, Dean’s disgustingly quick on the draw with deep condolences whipped up out of nothing. Except that those are usually for strangers he’ll never see again. And if Dean _does_ meet any of the victims, it’s usually when the death he brings them is as much a mercy killing as it is a public service.

Linda had just been doing her job as a parent. He prays to That Asshole–to _God_ –that her soul made it to Heaven. She had been a tough hen to crack, and sometimes she’d reminded him of his own mom. It’s too easy to keep imaging himself in Kevin’s place and it’s a place no one should ever have to be. Dean hates himself for putting the kid there, but what other choice does he have?

“Look who finally decided to show up!” The child-angel shouts at him from her seat _atop_ one of the tables.

“Well it was either this or an extended dinner date with the douchebag downstairs.” Sam (looking a helluva lot better than he did outside) peers up as they join him and What’s-Her-Wings.

“Yeah and he’s not exactly a _cheap_ date, either.” She says with a smirk before yawning and stretching her arms overhead.

Dean’s used to the clueless look that Cas gets when he tries to explain this kind of stuff. The comically slow mo realization followed by the glowing pride when he finally gets half way and _still_ manages to miss the point entirely.

It kinda creeps him out when angels can joke back this effortlessly.

He huffs, pushing his unease down before anyone can see it. Kevin stills with his hand on the back of the chair opposite Sam, who’s regarding the Miracle Worker with the same look of astonishment all three of them must be giving her right now.

“What?” Midstretch, she pauses and Dean thinks he actually catches a hint of anxiety in her tone. “Crowley’s a diva–end of story.” She frowns, arms dropping to her sides.

Sam clears his throat and shoots her an apologetic grin. “I just don’t think any of us are really used to angels with a sense of humor.”  Kevin murmurs in agreement, sinking into the chair and leaning it back on two legs.

“Yeah,” Dean presses on, crossing his arms while trying to give her a hard stare. “and how’d you know about Crowley, anyway?” The look she returns says she’s as intimidated by him as a comet would be of an ant.

Bring it on, Sister. By now he’s well used to being the loudest and angriest ant in the room.

“I’d be a pretty lousy envoy if I didn’t.” She reaches behind her and pulls the liter of Pepsi they bought earlier–seemingly out of thin air.

“He still have his phone on him?” It goes straight to voicemail every single time.

She nods. “Cas is just very paranoid about them tapping it and tracing the call back to you.”

Sitting cross-legged, the angel gives him one of those real fucking uncomfortably knowing looks that Sam and Charlie shoot him from time to time. Dean breaks eye contact and ends up meeting one of Sam’s _too-damn-concerned-for-his-own-good_ gazes.

“Huh,” He grumbles to the hard wood under his boots. “The NSA forming a branch up there or somethin’?” Kevin snorts and Dean looks up in time to see him cover a smirk with the back of his hand.

“Possible, but I doubt it.” The girl who’s not a girl sighs as she slumps forward, dropping her arms into her lap. “I told him it would be a lot more convenient for everyone, but he said that since I have to keep healing Sam anyway, that _‘we might as well be smart about it’_.” She lowers her voice into a gravelly, _freakishly_ accurate impersonation of Cas. That’s another one of those phrases that the geek is so _damn_ _proud_ to have mastered.

“I know, good likeness, huh?”

Dean realizes that he’s smiling to himself and quickly hardens his features before either Sam or Kevin can notice. Thankfully, neither of them does. In fact, Sam’s attention is laser-focused on Cas’ messenger.  He always sits like he’s got a pole up his ass whenever there’s another angel aside from Castiel around.

“Spot on.” Sam agrees.

“Thanks. I’ve been practicing.” Reaching for the cola, she beams at his brother while cracking the cap open. Now that Dean really looks at it, the bottle is impossibly frosted considering they’ve been back for less than an hour.

“Healing him doesn’t take that much out of you?” Dean gestures to the bottle that she raises to her mouth using both hands.

 “Cooling this off doesn’t,” she shakes her head and scoffs. “but his soul was burnt pretty badly, and icing that is a little bit trickier.”

“What?!” Dean’s exclamation drowns out Sam’s own _bizarrely_ casual ‘what’. He shoots his brother a hard look that’s returned evenly.

“Not like it was before–it wasn’t flayed,” she lowers the neck of the bottle, smoke blowing out from the lip when her breath passes over it. “It was…” she chews her lip thoughtfully. “More like someone you’d find in a burn ward.”

“Wow.” Kevin pipes up, letting his chair finally clatter back onto four legs. Girl Wonder takes the opportunity to take a ridiculously large swig of the soda.

“Wow.” Sam repeats in that worrisomely detached way he’s been doing since he woke up from the coma.

“Shit, well thanks for that, then…uh–” Dean snaps, feeling irritated with himself for not finding out sooner. “The hell do we call you anyway? Angela?”

Sam groans, drawing a hand over his face and utters “Jesus, Dean.”

Even Kevin chuckles a little. Good. Maybe later he might actually be approachable for a real apology.

“Well?”

She finishes her gulp of icy soda with an ‘ _ah_ ’ of satisfaction. “Nemo.”

Dean hasn’t read much of the Bible, but he’s pretty damn sure that’s not one of the names in it. “Thanks for getting brand name by the way.” Nemo nods at him. “Was worried you’d get the kind that just says _Kola_ , with a ‘K’.” She shudders. “That stuff tastes like _crap_.” Then she freakin’ giggles like a kid who’s just said the word _crap_ for the first time.

“Dude, and I thought Cas was weird.” Dean mumbles, shaking his head as he finally pulls a chair over to the others. He flips it around and plops down, hugging the back. “Nemo, huh? As in _Finding, Captain, or Little_?”

“As in _no one_.” Kevin says quietly, earning him a thoughtful nod from Sam. “It’s Latin.” Nemo claps and half-bows in his direction.

“Well that’s encouraging.” Dean mutters as their formerly nameless guest offers her soda to Kevin, who studies it like he would a hovering pot of soup. He accepts it hesitantly and Dean sees the timid AP student again who reminds him of Sam back in high school. “Is that like a codename for a spook or something? Like Angelic Blackwater?”

“Academi.” Sam clears his throat again.

Dean glances over. “Gesundheit.”

“No, it’s–” Sam coughs and swallows. “They changed their name to _Academi_ a few years ago.” Pushing out from the table, he stands.

“Well now it just sounds like an online college or one of those tutoring services for kids with learning disabilities.” Dean shrugs at the stares he receives from all three of them right as Sam starts to cough again.

“Hey,” His brother aims down at Nemo. “Where–” he pounds on his chest. “Where are the rest of the groceries?” She tilts her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Thanks.” His words are tight as he makes a hasty retreat back down the hall.

Dean turns around to find the angel staring at him. Goddamn, the way they just _stare_ at you like that… “So you said his soul is _burnt_?”

“More like _inflamed_ now, thanks to…” The weirdo jabs both of her thumbs towards her chest.

“Don’t think I don’t appreciate that–” Dean’s weak chuckle of relief cracks his voice but at least the other two don’t say anything about it.

More hacking coughs echo down the corridor and subside just as quickly. Whether or not Sam stopped or just smothered his mouth, Dean has no way of knowing.

“–but I need to know how badthe damagereally is.”

“Yeah.” Kevin adds in. When Dean looks at him, his attention is rooted firmly to his own lap.

Nemo pats the bottle, smoothing over the crinkles in the peeling label. “Like I said, he’s doing a lot better now. Though it would help if he took it easy for a while.” She squints at him skeptically. “Think you can swing that?”

Dean nods enthusiastically. “Chicken soup, Gatorade, _Die Hard_ marathon and three hot showers a day. Plus optional viewings of _The Princess Bride_ –got it.”

“He’ll heal a lot faster if he can avoid the messes you usually wind up in.”

Mulling that over, he watches Nemo guzzle down more cola. Kevin’s fixated on the fibers of his sweats as if they contain the secrets of the universe. It gets bizarrely quiet except for the sound of the angel gulping that shit down.

Then Sam’s unmistakable clomping fills the air and his brain switches back into alpha mode. “Again, from the bottom of my lil’ red, white, ‘n blue heart– _thank you_.”

Chin pointed at his knees, Kevin salutes and lets his arm fall heavy to swing like a pendulum at the side of his chair.

Sam returns with half a bottle of water; Bitch Face #17 forming as he rounds on Dean. “You really gonna start–”

It’s Nemo who silences him with a frenzied flapping motion of her arms. “ _Shuuush_!!! I’ve been dying to actually hearone of these in person!”

Dean scowls at her.  “One of _what_? The hell are you talking about?” If today doesn’t kill him…

The corner of her mouth twitches up as she shakes her head, peering out from under sly lashes at him. “Go on, say it! It’s part of my answer.”

Dean feels the irritation tug at his expression, but he shoves it aside. The chaos they’ve been wading through might actually subside long enough for them to get some real answers.

“I need to know what your endgame is.” No point pussy-footing around it.

Kevin observes them with carefully detached interest while Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut and head bowed. “Dean…”

“It’s alright.” Nemo hasn’t blinked once. Freakin’ angels, man. “Guess you have to earn the actual, wrathful speeches.” She grumbles, appearing ridiculously disappointed.

Dean really doesn’t like the direction this is going in, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“Hhhmmmmmm…” she bites her lip, dipping her chin. Suddenly, she’s indistinguishable from any other kid attempting to stave off shyness. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

He blinks and resists the urge to plant his palm over his face. “Sure.”

Sam murmurs in agreement as genuine curiosity ripples across Kevin’s face. They all study her and Dean thinks that if her complexion didn’t guard against it so well, the angel would actually be beet red in the face from embarrassment.

“I want to help cuz…” Nemo inhales. “Cuz I’m a really big fan of the books.” she rushes, smiling sheepishly.

Both brothers groan immediately as most of her bizarre comments click into place.

“You can’t be serious.” “You gotta be friggin’ kiddin’ me.” Their exasperations overlap.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” She pouts.

Dean points at his steely expression. “Does it look like I’m laughing?”

Kevin frowns at all of them in confusion. “I’m missing something, aren’t I?” God, he hoped this day would never come, but really should have known better.

“ _Supernatural?_ ” Nemo raises an eyebrow at him while Sam and Dean exchange forlorn grimaces. Kevin shakes his head, evidently lost. Their _fan’s_ eyes widen as an enormous grin breaks out over her face. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Can we keep it that way, please?” Moaning, Sam slumps forward to bury his head in the X of his arms across the table.

Dean tries “Yeah, let’s not–”

“Ohhhhh, _no_!” Nemo huffs out a downright maniacal chuckle, this diabolical gleam in her eye that makes his guts squirm. “That wouldn’t be very fair. Especially considering that _he’s in them_.”

“Huh?” Kevin’s growing bewilderment only seems to encourage her; that fanatical atmosphere beginning to practically crackle through the enclosed space.

“Can I tell him? PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE CAN I?!” Nemo’s actually bouncing, eyes darting back and forth between the brothers with a fervency that’s just plain unsettling in an ancient celestial being.

“Knock yourself out.” Conceding, Dean uncrosses his arms from around the chair while Sam nods grimly, straightening up and bracing his hands on his knees.

Nearly exploding with glee, Nemo turns her full attention to Kevin. “Ok, so like seven years before you met these guys, these books started…”

Catching Sam’s eye, Dean jerks his head in a direction _away_ from this inevitable disaster and the two stand. Sam is all too relieved to escape the gushing over those _fucking_ _terrible_ books–which apparently are still being published if Kevin’s in them now.

“You believe this shit?” Running a hand through his hair, Dean scoffs and tries his best to block out the fragments of their lives that Nemo’s spilling out like a busted pipe.

“If Crowley found them, guess it was only a matter of time before one of the angels did too.” Unconsciously, Sam flicks his tongue out over seriously painful-looking chapped lips.

“Yeah but who’d actually want to read…” Dean glances back at the sound of John’s name to witness an extremely animated demonstration.

“…holds him off just long enough for Dean to get a shot off– _BAM!_ ” Nemo mimes firing what can only be an imitation of the Colt. “Right into his heart I’m not even kidding!” She smacks her chest while Kevin listens with his mouth slightly open.

“Why do we always get the weird ones?”

“Well if our lives _were_ some kind of series–”

“Don’t.” Dean holds up a hand before his brain melts. “You start up with that _Truman Show_ crap and I might just have to commit myself. Again.” He rubs at his eyes stubbornly and turns towards the war room. “Cummon,” he motions for Sam to follow. “Unless you want to see our greatest hits reenacted by Little Miss Sunshine over there.”

They glance back to see Nemo dramatically clutching at her heart while swaying upright on her knees and staring horrified into her open palm. She chokes, injecting a short explanation to Kevin that sounds like ‘hearts in the cupcakes’ and Dean turns away, shaking his head to Sam.

“Think it’s a smart idea to leave them alone?”

It isn’t. It really isn’t, but there’s this weird feeling behind his rib cage like a cave in. Loathe as he is to admit it, Dean’s starting to warm up to her and just hopes to hell that it won’t come back to bite him in the ass like it usually does.

He sighs; a practically drunken weariness tugging the air from his lugs. “Dude, if I have to hear about those books _one more time_...” Shrugging, he sets a casual pace away from a questionable decision; relieved to note that Sam has no problem keeping up.

“Dean, I don’t think it’s even eleven a.m. yet.”

“And you’re already bitching.” Huffing, Dean increases his stride. “I don’t think that’s all too wise for your health, Sammy.”

The way to the kitchen is veiled in silence neither of them has the will to disturb.

Unlike Nemo’s precious soda, the beer he bought earlier in the morning is still room temperature. Grunting disappointedly, Dean pushes it aside on the upper rack of the fridge. There’s a can from the last time he went grocery shopping. Feels like yet _another_ lifetime ago. There have been far too many of those over the past decade.

“Want one?” Leaning out, he offers the can to Sam, who declines it like Dean figured he probably would.

“Don’t think my _physician_ would approve.” His brother motions to the direction they just came from as Dean takes the beer for himself. Popping the tab, Dean sidles over to the chrome island tabletop and props up against it.

There’d been a time when they’d bought six-packs and languished for _hours_ on the side of the road; congratulating themselves on glorified exterminations gone right. Taking a deep draft, he welcomes the familiar chill while examining Sam’s worn features. Dean honestly doesn’t remember the last time they had the luxury to drink in celebration.

Somewhere along the line, the job description changed. The Family Business became The Family Burden.

Things like dragging the Devil back to Hell while he bucked against the inside of your skull. Things like having your soul flayed, separated, and then glued back together by friggin’ _Death_ himself. Things like transforming into a conduit for a massive amount of Holy energy–like having all of it backfire critically because your _pathetic_ excuse for an older brother just couldn’t stop failing. Things like _that_ are what booze is good for now and sometimes Dean feels like he’s drinking Sam’s share for him.

They’re all dead men walking at this point. _Someone_ may as well drink for them.

Sam–alive and mostly kickin’–leans back to settle his weight into the ancient fridge they keep talking about replacing. Dragging himself out of places he doesn’t want to be this early in the morning, Dean roots himself in a present, where he can still make a difference.

“Honestly though, how’re you holding up?”

“Better than anyone should be after something like that.”

Drinking deep, Dean squeezes the can gently for luck before setting it down. “Sam, back at the church…you don’t still think…?”

“Maybe,” Sam sighs, letting his gaze drop faster than Dean’s spirits. “I don’t know. It comes and goes.” He’s been foolishly hoping that the angelic healing would scrape Sam’s guilt away too, like tearing the burnt edges off toast.

“You know that whole ‘demonic taint’ thing is crap, right? That you’re one of the good guys?” Jaw twitching, Sam’s features darken as he stares at the rack of kitchenware behind Dean. “You’ve paid your debt over and _over_ and you can stop.” Opting for silence, Sam casts his focus down to the floor.

Times like this, it’s exactly like when they were kids. So it’s tiring, but also weirdly comforting in a disturbing way.

“You know that if anyone and I mean _anyone_ deserves to miraculously bounce back from an aborted suicidal Holy mission that it’s _you_. Right?”

Sam scuffs the toe of his boot into the tiles. “Dean, can we just leave it alone for now?” Something inside his chest cracks from the strain in Sam’s voice. 

That weight was supposed to be his.

He crosses the short distance to stand toe-to-toe with his baby brother. “Look, all I know is we got lucky this time. Real damn lucky.” Didn’t he used to cut this kind of crap short when others spewed it? _No chick flicks, my ass._

“I mean,” He waves at Sam’s chest. “You were ready to _die_ and I just, I can’t–” Suddenly claustrophobic, Dean takes a step back.

Something like sentiment begins to blossom across Sam’s face, which Dean successfully snuffs out with a solid jab to the arm.

“ _Ow!_ ” Annoyance washes it all away as Dean reclaims his lost ground.

“Don’t you _ever_ throw your life away, Sam.” He punches the other arm for emphasis. “Maybe that _is_ selfish, but I honestly don’t care.” Avoiding his eyes, the older hunter turns on his heel and takes his beer with him.

No matter how small, it feels like a victory. So he counts it as one.

When Dean returns to the Library, he wraps sharply on the wall; interrupting another animated production of _the Winchester Gospel_ (Christ, that’s what Cas had actually called it).

“So what’s the plan?” He hollers as Sam catches up. Kevin hides a cheeky grin with the back of his hand. The avid excitement on Nemo’s face splutters out prematurely as she catches sight of Dean’s grim expression.

She blinks as if coming back to herself and declares “The plan is Kevin.”

“What?!” All three men echo in unison.

“Relax.” She sighs impatiently. “You wanted the rundown, right?”

Down to business. Dean nods, clenching his free fist while squeezing his icy beer can. Everytime he asks for the truth he ends up regretting it.

“Metatron was gonna take Cas’ grace for a spell that would have locked everyone out of Heaven and thrown away the key.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean breathes. Sam makes a noise of disgust behind him as Kevin listens intently.

“It looks like he and Naomi might have killed each other, but no one knows for sure. Everyone suspects Cas and there’s sort of a manhunt out for him now.”

“Kinda figured from the Holy Inquisition.” Hearing it aloud turns the flame up on the anger bubbling in his gut.

“I was watching you.” The angel admits. “You’re lucky Zadkiel got called away when he did.”

“Do you know what for?” Sam passes by and that _unrelenting calm_ in his tone scrapes Dean’s nerves on the way.

“Who cares?” He mutters under his breath, following like a kicked puppy.

“Something about Abaddon, I didn’t really catch much since I’m uh…” she scratches her head, gaze drifting up briefly in contemplation. “ ‘Jacked in’to one of the Host’s sub-frequencies.”

“Is that why they didn’t want Crowley? _Priorities_?”

Nemo nods at Sam.

“And they didn’t notice you?” Dean frowns as he saddles his chair.

“My consciousness was spread too thin for them to sense me. I was listening in through an ant colony in the foundation.”

“ _Ugh_.” Kevin speaks for all humans present.

“I didn’t know you guys could do that.” Sam sits up a little straighter in his seat. “So you can inhabit multiple vessels if they’re linked by a hive mind?”

“You can fill Sam in on the Dracula trick later. What _specifically_ are these guys after Cas for?” As if he really has to ask.

“Sedition.”  Nemo answers.

A lead weight displaces all of Dean’s anger, sloshing it over the sides to leave only fear and despair. The fuck are they supposed to do about that; sneak Cas off-world? Outta the solar system? Scatter _his consciousness_ around a couple of beehives?

Get it together, man. Strategize.

“So are you guys holed up in some kind of safe house?” He sighs, running an unsteady hand through his hair as she nods again. “Where?”

“I’m pretty positive that no one’s listening–thanks to the wards–but I’d rather not say it aloud.” Waving her on, Dean kneads his brow with a now pathetically shaking hand. “We have research materials but no leads, and,” She quickly averts his souring gaze. “The place is warded _very heavily_. So just by being in there, Cas’ grace is kind of being leached away.”

“ _Kind of?_ ” Did he growl just now or was it just–nope, apparently not. The others are all staring at him as if he’s some kind of crotchety, old droopy-eyed basset hound. “You said _leaching_ , isn’t grace like–”

“The blessing of God converted into physical essence. In _very simple_ terms, it’s our life force.”

“Awesome.” He exhales. “That’s just...” Dean avoids looking at any of them. “ _Great_ , so how does Kevin play into all of this?”

At the sound of his name, Kevin fidgets a little in his chair and Dean glances up to see the kid miss the sympathetic expression Sam shoots his way.

“I’m pretty sure the Angel Tablet is there somewhere, but for whatever reason, neither of us can find it. I need Kevin to get it and see if it has a way to mask Castiel from other angels. In Heaven and on Earth. Despite what he seems to think–” well that’s very reassuring. “–the best solution is to do this until we can prove his innocence. Plus, he’s getting really crabby and hogging all my tea.”

Despite himself, Dean smiles. _Tea_. Of course Cas would go for tea.

He looks at Kevin again, who’s not really looking at anything. He’s just sitting there, with an eerie kind of blankness shrouding his features. Dean snaps his fingers in succession and says Kevin’s name aloud. The one and only current Prophet of the Lord raises his head, meeting Dean’s eyes wearily.

“What do you think?”

Kevin shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Does it matter?”

“It does.” Resisting the urge to yell is hard; he’s so fucking tired. He wants to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

“ _I think_ ,” the kid huffs “that you point, and I ask ‘where’s the ledge?’ ”

“Kevin…” Sam pipes up, clearing his throat.

“ _What_?” His chuckle’s a hollow one as he scrubs a hand over his young, worn face. “The fuck am I supposed to do? It’s my _destiny_ and anyways,” he makes air quotes and turns to Dean. “he’s your–”

“Family.” It comes out automatically. “He’s _family_.” Dean emphasizes in a voice that somehow manages to be excessively gruff and embarrassingly tender at the same time.

A weird, itchy silence bounces between the four of them until Sam pipes up. “It would get you out of the same zip code as Crowley.”

Kevin levels him with a somber stare before moving onto Dean as he shrugs again and replies “Guess I may as well help the _family_ I’ve got left then.”

Dean has to restrain himself from leaping across the table to tackle Kevin in a hug of gratitude. It’s a real goddamn mess of a situation and God knows he feels like utter crap about Linda, but he also feels a little lighter knowing at least _one thing_ might go right.

A tinny, muffled rendition of Maiden’s _Fear of the Dark_ blares out of his vibrating pocket. That’s the generic tone set for all numbers not saved under his contacts. The room stills, but by the time he wrestles it out of the snug fold of denim at his hip, the ringing has stopped. A flashing graphic spawns across the screen indicating new voicemail.

“One sec.” He tells the rest of them, before dialing in the pin.

 _“You have (one) voice message_. _You have (three) saved voice messages. First voice message…”_

“ _Morning, Sunshine._ ”

Dean’s heart comes to a shuddering halt. Abaddon lets the sound of her voice sink in as Sam and Kevin converse quietly across the table. Frowning, Nemo glances up. Just as Dean fears the silence on the line might drive him mad, the knight laughs softly and breathes

“ _I really hope your plan includes video messaging_.”

“Dean, wha–” he cuts Sam off, listening intently over the roar of his own blood pounding in his ears.

“ _Hope to see you soon. The kids are getting restless_.” With that cryptic remark, the message ends.

“Fuck.” He squeezes the phone, feeling the cheap plastic creak under his grasp. “The Hell Bitch herself is gonna send me a video.”

“ _Fuck_.” Sam repeats simply.

Kevin glances between them, while Nemo watches everything happening. She’s utterly silent for once.

“You mean…?”

Dean grimaces. “The One and Only.”

“ _Abaddon_.” Sam finishes.

“Oh.” Kevin pulls himself up, staring at Dean’s phone with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Yeah, _oh_.” Dean checks to find no notifications and his inbox void of any new messages. “She said _‘_ hope to see you soon, the kids are getting restless’.”

Sam tilts his head, scowling slightly. “Kids? The hell is she...” something sobering ripples across his face. “Oh.”

“Wanna share with the class?”

This one’s gonna be rough. If he makes it through today, they’re taking the rest of the year off. Most of which, he’s perfectly content to sleep through.

His phone vibrates again, sealing Sam’s lips before he can answer. Dean’s thumb hovers over the screen.

“Scooch in, guys.” He does his best to keep the unforgiving exhaustion out of his voice, but knows damn well how pitiful the effort truly is. His brother, the prophet, and the littlest angel crowd in around his chair, peering down at his phone’s scuffed up screen.

“Let’s get this train wreck a-rollin’.” Dean pushes play.

The scene opens on three seated outlines in backless stools. Slits of dark sapphire dawn can be made out through the gaps in the slatted boards nailed over the windows. A flashlight clicks on, swinging in an arc to reveal glimpses of a rundown kitchen before landing on those seated.

The contents of his stomach freeze solid when Dean realizes who they are.

“So as you can see, they’re pretty worn out.” Abaddon is evidently the one recording.

She steps up to the boy–Aaron? Aiden? Adam?–and entangles her ruby talons in his darkly matted curls. Tilting the boy’s head back, she illuminates a pretty nasty shiner while he squints unflinchingly up at her with his good eye. The light slants a certain way and Dean catches the spark of unspeakable rage smoldering softly within his gaze.

“But you can’t just let them sleep the whole day away,” letting his chin drop, she moves on to the girl–Josephine–he remembers because she reminds him of Jo Harvelle in more ways than a similar name.

Her split bottom lip is caked with flaking blood while her face and throat are marked by scratches and bites. Not the fun kind either; these are savage.

“Their internal clocks will fall out of sync.” Abaddon takes hold of the girl’s jaw, who refuses to look at the camera, and– _gross_ –tenderly strokes her cheek. Josephine jerks back, swollen lip curling in revulsion as the camera passes her. “After all, adolescents require instruction.”

“They crave discipline, even if they don’t recognize the desire for what it actually is.” Something inside Dean shatters like liquid nitrogen when Krissy comes into view, blinking dazedly up at the demon. “ _Trust me_ , boys–they’ll thank you for it later.”

Krissy’s a little less beat up than the other two, though rake-like bruising consistent with compulsive scratching disappears into her hairline and under her shirt collar. Fury rises up the back of Dean’s throat like acidic bile as the kid lets her gaze drop to the floor. Abaddon chuckles quietly, stepping back to bring the whole group into frame.

“So I figured we’d pass the time with _a game_.” The kids barely react to this. They simply look _resigned_. “I know they’re a bit old for it but…” she stalks along the edge of the circle, slowly advancing on Krissy. “You never really outgrow the classics.”

The girl looks up at her, mechanically shaking her head. Abaddon extends the camera, revolving it around to show herself perched over Krissy like some overgrown vulture. The demon spotlights her as the girl mumbles something unintelligible.

“You’d be so proud of her, Dean.” Abaddon sighs almost reverently as she levels the light. “She tries so hard to live up to your example.”

“ ‘m sorry.” Krissy mumbles, twin tears cutting glistening trails through the smudges over her cheeks.

Abaddon digs her scarlet nails into Krissy’s shoulder. “That much is implied, dear. Don’t be trite.” All the faux sweetness is gone from her voice.

Instantly, the hunter goes rigid and her lips part with a slight gasp as tears continue to stream down her face. At first Dean thinks he might be imagining the crimson flare in her irises.

“You guys seeing that?” Sam whispers, and Dean glances up to see him and Kevin frowning down at the phone. Nemo catches his eye, dipping her head to the recording.

It’s no longer possible to mistake the gleaming red filling her irises for a trick of the light. As he watches, the tears really start to flow and the light intensifies to the point that it fans out from under her eyelashes like sunbeams. Her mouth gapes and her breath starts to come in heavy panting huffs.

Abaddon grins and waves to the camera before stepping off to the side. She pans to the other two, who are eying their companion wearily as she slowly rises. Krissy lurches towards the guy and Dean realizes with a swell of pride and fear that she’s resisting the demonic influence.

“Babe–” the guy who’s gotta be her boyfriend tries before she cuts him off. 

“Duck.” She says flatly, the white of her eyes completely outshone with red. She lifts an arm as if it weighs two tons, swaying almost drunkenly to clutch at his thick curls.

Did she just say…

The other girl off-camera makes absolutely no noise whatsoever.

“Duck.”  Krissy repeats the words and gesture with her other friend, who stiffens at the touch, as if bracing herself.

“Is that…” Kevin pales when Dean looks up at him. “Are they playing…?” he points at the phone. Dean nods grimly. “Shit.”

His jaw clenches as he forces himself to keep watching.

Krissy repeats the cycle of _ducks_ once more, tagging her friends in succession.

Her boyfriend tells her “It’s ok. Whatever you do, it’ll be ok– _I promise_.” Josephine never makes so much as a peep.

By the time Krissy tags the boy a third time, she’s drenched in sweat and sucking in air as if she’s starved for it.  She goes rigid–eyes widening as her clenched knuckles shine white in his hair. Hauling him to his feet with surprising force, she grabs the scruff of his shirt and pokes him hard in the sternum.

“ _Goose_.”

“Don’t try to fight it.” He gulps, keeping eye contact even as his voice cracks. “I’ll be fine.”

Abaddon quickly moves to get both teenagers’ profiles in frame. Krissy jerks, letting out a pained whimper.

“It’s fine, Kris.” The boy murmurs even as the breath in his chest visibly hitches. “Just do it.”

“Precious.” Abaddon sniffs loudly off-camera and simpers. “ _Absolutely_ _precious_.” Aiden (it suddenly hits Dean–that _is_ his name) ignores her. The demon pulls a sleek dicing knife into the shot. “You heard him.” Lifting Krissy’s clenched fist, Abaddon uncurls the teenager’s rigid fingers one by one and places the knife in her grip.

Krissy makes a noise that starts as a mewl and ends in a snarl. She growls as her hand snaps shut around the handle; clutching it so tightly that Dean can actually hear her knuckles creak.

“Listen to your sweetheart.” Purring, Abaddon zooms in on Aiden’s stony features. “He’ll forgive you.”

Choking on a furious sob, Krissy trembles violently.

“Babe, jus–”

She shrieks–a burst of primal pain that blares over the phone speakers and curdles Dean’s blood. Leaping at him, Krissy knocks Aiden onto his back and straddles him as he gasps from being winded so suddenly. Ripping his t-shirt apart, Krissy exposes his nearly hairless chest.

Aiden tries and fails to bite back his screams as she starts to slice into the sensitive skin of his abdomen. Dean realizes with dawning horror that the lacerations aren’t random. That Krissy’s _cutting_ numbers into his flesh. Her smile is one of pure, transcendent bliss as she slashes; hysterical laugher punching out of her lungs.

As Krissy finishes, she instantly keels over sideways, falling off of Aiden and nearly smashing her head into the floor beside him. He cries out as he catches her awkwardly and rolls her off of him. Heaving, he grits his teeth and glares up at the camera with seething hatred before glancing down at his bleeding gashes.

They’re coordinates.

Abaddon whips the camera back up to her own face and clears her throat, forcing the smile from her lips with clear difficulty. “Bring Crowley. No angels. Just the two of you boys. I’ll babysit your brats for _exactly eight more hours_ ,” she enunciates each word like a stab to the gut. “And not a single second more. Do I make myself clear?”

The video ends.

In the deafening silence, Dean can only stare slack-jawed at the replay button dead-center of the screen as the true horror of the situation threatens to engulf him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fun Facts*  
> -When Dean asks 'as in _Finding, Captain, or Little_ ' he's referring to _Finding Nemo_ , Captain Nemo from _20,000 Leagues Under The Sea_ and _Little Nemo_.  
>  -The episodes that Nemo's acting out for Kevin are _All Hell Breaks Loose Pt. 2_ (2x22) and _Shut Up, Dr. Phil_ (7x05).
> 
> This chapter had not one, not two, but **THREE** glorious betas: [irrelephanthumour](http://archiveofourown.org/users/irrelephanthumour), [MarmeLady_Orange](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MarmeLady_Orange) and [UnleashTheFic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/UnleashTheFic)!
> 
> Why? Well ya see, Chapter Six was actually completed in June, but (as per usual) a whole bunch of things happened that put my life on hold and made me ridiculously insecure about this entire chapter. So I spent a few months re-writing like hell and pleading with my darling betas to help me fix it.
> 
> Now the real fun can finally begin plot-wise! In the meantime, if anyone wants to chat about the S11 premier (or just any old thing), hit me up on [my tumblr](http://mnemos9.tumblr.com/). We can stay up alllllll night braiding Sam's hair and apologizing to him for plucking him out of his own universe.
> 
> And lastly, I dedicate this chapter to every single amazing individual involved in any way with **Destiel Con '15**. This year has been nothing short of living hell for me, and that single weekend with all of you rejuvenated me in ways I wasn't even aware of needing.  
>  To our community in general-you are my favorite kind of people. Coming together over our love for _love_ is kind of a surreal experience, but one I wouldn't trade for the world :3 *sniff* I just love...love! Who wants a naked hug from the sobbing author? For the cost of one, lowly Snickerdoodle-I will keep my pants on.


End file.
